


Flight of the Stars

by DarkLadySwan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Hermione Granger, Canon Divergence - Post-Battle of Hogwarts, F/M, Morally Grey Hermione Granger, Sane Tom Riddle, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort, eventually dark, have fun :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 97,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24239449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkLadySwan/pseuds/DarkLadySwan
Summary: When Hermione is sent back in time with a spell, she decides to use this to her advantage and kill Tom Riddle before he becomes Lord Voldemort. What follows will challenge everything she knew about herself, and everything she thought she knew about him. Eventually dark. Postwar AU.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 128
Kudos: 198





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, the world, or anything else in this besides the plot. That belongs to me. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Except the computer. That belongs to my parents. So I literally own nothing except for the plot. *grumbles in a corner*

Hermione pulled her jacket closer as she trudged through the streets, one hand in her jacket pocket where she clutched her wand. Harry - Auror Potter now, she supposed; she really needed to get used to calling him that in public - had cautioned her to always keep her wand close when traveling through Muggle London. Although, of course, she would have done that anyway; she was so skittish and jumpy from the war that she never parted from her wand, not even to use the restroom. Not to mention the paranoia - once, she had blasted her bedroom wall into bits because she thought a Death Eater was standing in front of it. When she wasn't obliterating her apartment, she would wake up screaming, because she had seen -

No, she mustn't think about that.

Merlin, but she hated days like this. Cold, misty, and darkly overcast, without even a hint of sunshine peeking through the thick, grey clouds. It all too closely reflected the general mood now that the war was over. Harry had won, of course, but there was not a single witch or wizard who had not lost someone close to them. Everyone was grieving. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the Death Eaters were still at large. She, Harry, and Ron had assumed, incorrectly, that the remaining ones would flee into hiding now that Voldemort was gone. They hadn't expected them to continue fighting, albeit more desperately - and in their case, desperate meant that they were more reckless, less calculating. More dangerous.

She shivered, and not just because of the cold.

Scanning her surroundings, she opened the battered door to the Leaky Cauldron and stepped inside to its comforting warmth, smoothing her damp hair out of her face. The inn was mostly deserted, although a couple of tables were occupied near the back. Tom the barman glanced at her hopefully, but she shook her head and maintained a firm grip on her wand. Just because she was eighteen now, it didn't give her an excuse for a drink, which was the last thing she needed at the moment. She needed her senses on high alert.

Making her way briskly through Diagon Alley, she stopped near the side of a deserted building and pulled out a coat button. "Avenseguim," she whispered. The button glowed for a split second, rose up uncertainly, then, as if it had picked up a trail, flew ahead of her and turned a corner. Straight into Knockturn Alley.

Brilliant. Of course it had to be Knockturn.

Casting a quick Disillusionment charm, she turned the corner and followed her tracking charm. She crept quietly down the dark, narrow walk and, reaching Cobb & Webb's, where the button was tapping against the doorknob, she murmured a Finite and caught the button, flattened herself against the side, and watched the door carefully. Her stomach rolled. The shop fairly reeked of Dark magic. She grimaced and settled herself against the wall.

And waited.

Hermione shivered despite her jacket. Cold and misty. These were the conditions when she went on her first independent mission as a Junior Auror? It was pathetic, really. Hermione Granger, bookworm-turned-war heroine, sent to track down a low-ranking Death Eater, just a boy, really, Stun him, and bring him back to the Ministry. She'd done more impressive feats during her time at Hogwarts. And she was freezing. She sighed bitterly and tried to wrap herself more snugly in her jacket, but just ended up getting her hands wet.

She supposed she could just use a warming charm, but casting the spell would just draw unnecessary attention to herself. Lost in thought, she stared unseeingly at the wind-torn poster left over from the war, showing Harry's face above the words "Undesirable No. 1". The words began to blur as mist clung to her eyelashes.

The bell rang over the door of Cobb & Webb's, and she snapped her head to the left to see a man with hard, blunt features and a pale blond braid that hung down his back step out of the shop. Her stomach tightened and her heart sped up as adrenaline started to kick in.

Yaxley.

 _He_ certainly wasn't who she had been tracking. Yaxley had been one of Voldemort's Inner Circle, ruthless and cruel and proud. Her grip on her wand tightened, turning her knuckles white. She prayed to Merlin and Godric and anyone else up there that he wouldn't see her.

He saw her.

His unpleasant smile turned into a sneer. "Now, what is a filthy Mudblood like you doing all the way down here?" His voice was quiet, but it was far more deadly than a snarl.

Hermione's eyes hardened at the swear word. "I could ask you the same thing," she said through gritted teeth.

Yaxley's lip twitched. "Mudbloods don't belong here, any more than the vermin. Leave while I'm being merciful."

Hermione cast a Stupefy at him. He blocked it effortlessly and smiled, cold and unpleasant. "Very well."

He sent a Dark cutting curse, she blocked it, and then they were a flurry of spells, casting, blocking, casting, blocking, until she could barely tell whose spell was whose. Despite her quite, if she was being honest with herself, exceptional skill, Yaxley had been trained by Voldemort himself. It came as no surprise when he slashed his way through her shields and sent a beam of white light at her. She felt blinded by the whiteness that surrounded her, and when it finally faded, she only barely managed to jump out of the way of an oncoming bus.

Wait, bus? Wasn't she just -

She spun around, her wand held out in front of her, and scanned the area for Yaxley, but he had vanished. So, apparently, had Knockturn Alley. Where in Godric's name was she?

Her heart beating in her throat, she examined her surroundings. She appeared to be once again in Muggle London, only it looked… different. Women dressed in strange clothes, old-fashioned cars driving down the road, only a few in number, and young men in pompadour hairstyles. The air felt warm, far warmer than it should feel at the beginning of spring. Her eyes widened as she took it all in. no no no no no no no…

Just to be sure, she hurried over to a man in a corduroy jacket and asked hurriedly, "Excuse me, sir, but what is today's date?"

"The 24th of August," he smiled.

August. It had been March when she had left. "And the year?" she pressed.

He gave her an odd look. "1944."

Hermione almost staggered and clutched the side of the building for support. She collected herself, gave him a tight smile in thanks, and walked away, her head spinning. She forced herself to relax, to think.

Yaxley must have hit her with the Reducite spell. That was the only explanation for her having gone back in time without a Time Turner. Highly illegal, Dark, and possessing potentially disastrous consequences. Of course he had used it against the Muggle-born. And as far as she knew, there was no possible way to get back.

She was stuck in 1940's London.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the plot.
> 
> Note: I will change the timing around slightly. For this timeline, Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald in 1943, not 1945.

Hermione hurried into a nearby alley, already sweating, and shrugged off her jacket. She leaned against one of the walls, wiping her forehead, and forced herself to come up with something, anything, that would give her a next step to follow.

She didn't know what to do.

In her first year, she had helped Harry prevent Voldemort's coming back. In her second year, she had brewed an extremely advanced potion and had gotten Petrified, and had figured out the mystery of the basilisk. Third year, she had stopped a werewolf. Fourth, she had helped Harry compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Fifth, she had fought against Umbridge's regime (and she still smiled to think of the curse she had put on Marietta Edgecombe, which still hadn't faded), and fought against Death Eaters at the Ministry. Sixth, she had decided to drop out of school to help Harry hunt for Horcruxes.

Seventh, she had fought Death Eaters, defied death, gotten tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange and lied, and fought against Voldemort with everything she had.

Then she watched Harry walk to his death, and was witness to one of the most important events in Wizarding history: Voldemort's defeat.

But she had never dealt with anything like this.

To be sent this far back in time? She had never read anything like it. She knew the effects of the Reducite curse, knew that it was incredibly unstable and therefore incredibly dangerous, but she had never heard of anyone being sent this far back by the curse, or by anything at all.

Was she stuck here, forever? To be sent back to 1944, of all times –

Then it came to her. 1944. Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald in 1943. Dumbledore was alive.

She suddenly knew what her next step was.

The door opened just as she raised her hand to knock, and a much-younger Albus Dumbledore looked down at her, a bemused expression on his face. "Yes, how may I help you?"

"Well," Hermione began, "you see, er – may I just come in, please?"

"Yes, certainly." Dumbledore opened the door for her and he followed her into the house.

It was small, but cozy. A large fire was flickering in the fireplace in the center, and a few comfortable-looking armchairs were gathered near it. Bookcases filled nearly every available area of wall space, and a teapot was whistling cheerfully on the stove over to the side. A hallway led off toward what she assumed was his bedroom.

"Tea?"

Hermione turned to see Dumbledore pouring tea into two mugs, and smiled at his assumption. "Two sugars, please."

Dumbledore complied, and a few moments later she was seated in one of the comfortable armchairs, the tea mug warming her hands, which had become cold with the thought of her predicament. If you can call something of this magnitude simply a predicament.

"Well, you see, sir – oh Merlin, how do I say this? My name is Hermione Granger, and I'm from the future."

Dumbledore didn't even blink, but simply nodded his head thoughtfully and took a sip of his tea. "Cause?"

"Er, the Reducite spell. Have you heard of it? I'm not sure if it's been invented yet." Hermione realized she was rambling and drank some tea as she gathered her thoughts. "It was cast at me by a – a future follower of a future Dark wizard." Death Eaters weren't – aren't around yet, she realized.

Dumbledore nodded again. "I see. Well, I am afraid, Miss Granger, that you are grounded here for the time being."

Hermione blanched. "I'm sorry?"

"There is, as of yet, no known way to return to your time. When do you come from, may I ask?"

She swallowed. "1999. March."

Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted slightly before he returned his face to its usual stoic expression. "That is quite a jump, Miss Granger."

"Sir, you're absolutely sure there's no way to get back?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Do you have any place to stay?" She shook her head, dread filling her stomach as this realization sank in. "You may stay with me, if you would like. I have a spare bedroom in the left hallway."

Hermione's eyes shot up to meet his blue ones, and she swallowed to see how much the young Dumbledore looked like the old Dumbledore she had known. "Thank you, sir, very much. I – you have no idea how much I appreciate this."

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Of course, Miss Granger. And you may call me Albus, if you would like."

Hermione grinned at him. "Only if you call me Hermione."

Hermione lay awake that night, thinking desperately. It just didn't make sense that there was no way back. Surely someone must have done this before, or it wouldn't be illegal. Surely someone had invented a spell just for this purpose, perhaps even as a counterspell for Reducite itself. But she couldn't just leave Harry, and Ron, and Neville and Luna and everyone else behind. She had to find a way back.

But to be sent back to 1944… Hermione knew practically nothing about the 1940s. She knew, of course, about World War II, and if she had her dates correct, it would end in about a year. But she knew nothing about fashion, or pop culture, or anything else a witch her age in this era should know about. She knew about fighting, and struggling to stay alive, and constantly fearing for the deaths of her friends, and she knew in depth every single way to destroy a Horcrux. But fashion?

Maybe she could peruse a copy of Witch Weekly. She didn't know where any were, but she would probably have to go to Diagon Alley anyway, so she could, perhaps, check in Flourish and Blotts. She needed some robes, too, and Madam Malkin's would be the place for that…

She remembered all those years ago, when she was eleven, her very first trip into Diagon. It hadn't seemed real before, the whole witch thing. Of course, that had explained how she could make a teapot fly across the room to pour tea without even touching it, but it had all seemed like something out of a dream. Until she had walked through the brick entrance and seen others like her, seen people who could do what she could do, and finally she hadn't felt alone. Finally she had felt like she belonged.

And that feeling had paled in comparison to the way she had felt at Hogwarts. Taking classes, excelling at everything she attempted, always the top of her class, and even when Draco had called her a Mudblood in second year, she hadn't cared, really – of course, she hadn't really known what she word meant at the time – but even when she had learned, learned that it was a really foul name for a Muggleborn, she hadn't cared because she could do magic better than he could.

And then the idea came to her, so suddenly that she shot up. Hogwarts. She was still the age of everyone in their seventh year. And this was 1944. If she was correct, that meant that Tom Riddle was in his seventh year. Tom Riddle. The future Lord Voldemort. He hadn't created his Horcruxes yet, or perhaps he had only created one, but it didn't matter either way.

She could kill him, and then he'd never become the Dark Lord. He'd never create his Horcruxes. He'd never wage war on Britain and on Hogwarts, never try to kill Harry.

If she enrolled in Hogwarts as a new student, perhaps a student who had been homeschooled and was there to take her N.E.W.T.s, no one would suspect a thing. She could kill Tom Riddle and leave, and no one would be the wiser.

But would she then create a time paradox? If Tom Riddle never started his Death Eaters, then there wouldn't be a Death Eater to send her back in the first place.

Or maybe Yaxley would have done that anyway, and didn't need the fact that she was a soldier of the Light to give him a motive.

She lay back down and turned over on her side, and thought of all of the people who had died fighting him, and all the people who had died trying to stop him, and poor Harry, and she realized that a possible time paradox wasn't going to stop her from making the future a better place.

Sleep came slowly that night.

"Of course," Dumbledore – no, Albus, it still felt strange in her mind – spooned some grits into two bowls and gave one to her, which she attacked with a vengeance, "we will have to supply you with clothes of our era. It will look strange to see you walking in clothes that haven't fallen into style yet. Not that I would know of any such things," he added, smiling.

"Witch Weekly?" Hermione suggested, pouring herself some orange juice.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at her. "Excellent suggestion, Miss Granger. Although I am assuming that you aren't the kind to read it."

Hermione laughed. "No, I most certainly am not. But I'm sure I can buy some copies at, well, where would I buy copies?"

"I believe St. Mungo's has some in its waiting room, and Tomes and Scrolls in Hogsmeade has some on display."

"Let's go to Hogsmeade. Maybe we can also hit Diagon Alley before we head back as well," Hermione said. "I need to pick up a few supplies."

"May I ask what you will do with your time here, Miss Granger? If I may be so presumptuous."

"No, it's fine," she smiled. "I'm going to go back to Hogwarts. I never took my N.E.W.T.s," she added quickly. "And I'll need to have them on my record if I'm going to get a job."

"Wise thinking. I think Diagon Alley will be an excellent place to get school robes and the like."

"Let's go this afternoon."

Later that day, Hermione took out parchment paper and a quill and began making a list.

Everything I Know About Tom Riddle

1\. He's my age and in his seventh year.

2\. He's handsome and charming and manipulative. (Typical. The perfect Slytherin.)

3\. He might have made a Horcrux already. The ring?

4\. His group of friends are the future Death Eaters (I hate that name) and they're already calling him by his "chosen name". I mean, honestly, who calls their friend "Lord Voldemort"?

5\. He's very intelligent. It'll be tempting to try to get higher marks than he will but I need to blend into the background.

6\. He's Head Boy.

7\. Everyone loves him.

That last note was extremely important. She couldn't just walk around and ask for information on him. If everyone loved him, then she needed to treat everyone as a potential threat.

She had a feeling this was going to be a strange, hard, and quite possibly lonely year.

Hermione needed a cat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not J.K. Rowling. Therefore I do not own Harry Potter.

That afternoon, Hermione once again entered the brick entrance into Diagon Alley, although for a completely different reason. This time, she was not entering as an Auror-in-training, but as a regular student, and she was planning to make the most of it.

She, courtesy of Dumbledore, who found the whole thing rather amusing, was now dressed in waist-high jeans, a soft, snug-fitting sweater, bobby socks, and saddle shoes, with her brown hair loose and held back by a headband. She enjoyed it thoroughly – it felt as if she were playing the part of someone else, rather than Hermione Granger. She also felt incredibly stylish, and that was a change she enjoyed as well, although she hadn't been expecting to.

Upon stepping into the now-lively street, she was surprised to find that there wasn't a large difference in the 1940s Diagon Alley and the Diagon she knew and loved. A few shops were missing, of course, replaced by others that wouldn't make it, but for the most part, they were all there: Gringotts, Ollivander's, Flourish and Blott's…

Diagon was absolutely swarming with magical people, mainly young witches and wizards, excited about returning to Hogwarts or else visiting for the first time. Many were still filled with wide-eyed wonder. It was so, so different from the war that she stood there for a moment, her heart aching as she watched young boys tug their parents' hands excitedly as they looked at the brooms, and children reading off of school supply lists, and playing with their new pets. It was so… so innocent. So joyful, so happy. These children weren't afraid of a Death Eater jumping them from behind a building, weren't on the lookout for flying curses, didn't fear Voldemort. They were happy, and excited, and Hermione listened to their chatter, spellbound, before shaking her head, blinking back moisture that was surely just dust in her eyes, and walked down the crowded narrow cobblestone street with new purpose and a spring in her steps.

She passed right by Ollivander's; she had no need of a wand since she already had her vine one, with a dragon heartstring core. It was extraordinarily lucky that it hadn't snapped when she'd been hit with the Reducite spell. That was one thing she needed to work on, her shields. Especially if she was eventually going to stand against Riddle. Horcruxes or no, he would still be a formidable opponent.

Hermione quickly realized that there was no Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. She walked up and down the street before realizing that robes were usually fitted at Barbara Smith's Wizarding Robes Shoppe. She blinked, shook her head, and walked inside.

The robes had changed very little in fifty years, and so when Barbara Smith welcomed her into the shop and began to measure her, she knew where to hold her arms and where to stand, as though she had done this a hundred times.

"I don't recall seeing you here before, dear," Barbara Smith was saying as she measured her waist.

"Oh, that's because I was homeschooled," Hermione said easily. "I'm coming to Hogwarts to take my N.E.W.T.s."

Lying, although she was ashamed to admit it, was most definitely easier now than it had been while she was at Hogwarts. She supposed it was because she had changed so drastically during the Second Wizarding War, or maybe because lying under Bellatrix Lestrange's infamous Cruciatus Curse had broken through the barrier. Lying was far easier when you had lied under conditions most thought impossible.

That would probably make this year far easier than it would have been otherwise.

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Barbara held up Hermione's forearm to reveal the scar that Bellatrix had so kindly left her.

"What is this, love?"

Hermione didn't want to face the compassion, or worse, the pity that she knew would be on her face. So she looked ahead, refusing to meet her eyes, and said evenly, "It was an accidental magic fiasco I accidentally performed when I was eight. It didn't hurt, really, don't worry about it."

"If you say so, dear," Barbara said softly. Hermione's felt a slight twinge in her heart, but forced herself to not meet her gaze. It had hurt. It had hurt more than she would ever tell anyone, because even worse than the agony of feeling a madwoman digging into your arm with a knife was the knowledge that said madwoman thought that Hermione was worthless.

She paid for the robes, very nice ones, really, close-fitting and soft, and on impulse, gave the older woman a quick hug before hurrying out of the shop. Not that she was feeling Hufflepuff today, far from it, but she was grateful that the woman had noticed what most people didn't – or in most cases, chose not to.

On impulse, she ducked inside the Magical Menagerie, which was, to Hermione's surprise, in business way back in this time. It was noisy and smelly, and every available inch of wall space was taken up by cages and cages of various animals, including Puffskeins, flobberworms (she grimaced), and ferrets (she snickered, remembering fourth year. That would never get old.). Passing by a particularly noisy cage of rats, she approached the desk, where the manager was busy documenting something.

"Excuse me, sir?" Hermione began. To her immense annoyance, he didn't even look up. "Sir, do you have any Kneazles?" she tried again, a little louder.

She was just about to walk out when the man finally glanced up at her. "I have a little one in the back, if you'd like."

Hermione nodded impatiently, and the horrid man walked painfully slowly to the pack of the shop, and stayed in there for several minutes. Finally he emerged, carrying a mewing Kneazle kitten with exceptionally large ears. She smiled in delight and held out her arms. The man placed the kitten in them, and the kitten (it was a girl, the man told her) snuggled against her. She was extremely soft, and she yawned sleepily and tried to bury herself in Hermione's sweater.

Hermione fell in love.

o-0-o

She sat in the back of the Leaky Cauldron, drinking a butterbeer and stroking her kitten (she had decided to name her Delphi, after the famous Greek oracle). It was a strangely cold day for August, and she was grateful for the warmth the Leaky Cauldron provided even though it was packed with young magic people and it was really quite loud. It was a nice change, however, from the Leaky Cauldron she knew. It was brighter, for one thing, and it didn't have such a tattered look about it. And in her time it was practically dismal; here it was bursting with excitement.

Hermione very nearly gasped; she had forgotten potion ingredients. What was she thinking, wasting the afternoon away while she still had more things to buy? She jumped up from the table, startling Delphi, and, draining her butterbeer so quickly she nearly choked, she hurried out of the warm tavern and into the biting wind (strangely cold for August, strangely cold) towards Slug and Jitters Apothecary. The wind had picked up slightly, and Hermione struggled to hold her belongings and her kitten all at the same time. Then it struck her; how could she be so _stupid?_ That was twice in one day, now. Forgetting supplies she needed, then not performing a simple charm. She was a seventh-year now, not a little first-year.

She performed a Shrinking charm on everything except for Delphi, who she tucked into the front pocket of her bag. Delphi's head poked out excitedly and she mewed at the change of scenery. Hermione stroked her furry head a couple of times, noting with amusement the really quite large size of her ears, and entered the Apothecary.

As she left, she rummaged through her bag. She hoped she had gotten everything she needed – she had already bought all of the necessary schoolbooks she needed for this year, as well as more parchment, some spare quills, and a refilling ink jar, but there were still some books that she had wanted to buy for background reading. It was getting rather late, and she had only a few days until September 1st, but surely one more stop couldn't hurt.

She opened the door to Flourish and Blotts, the tiny bell above the door announcing her entrance, and she made a slight nod to the manager's welcome and headed for the back. She breathed in the lovely scent of the ageing books, and smiled at the welcoming sight of tomes shelved floor to ceiling.

She grabbed another copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ ; she had the entire book memorized, but it was comfort reading to her now, and she had a feeling that she would need it. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them followed_ , as well as _An Outline of Wizarding History_ , _Recent Developments_ , and _The Second World War: How the Muggles Have Shaped Our Society_. She was struggling to reach _Most Potente Potions_ (however much she denied it, she wanted to beat Tom Riddle, especially in potions) when a pleasant voice behind her murmured, "Do you need some help with that?"

She spun around to meet a tall boy about her age, maybe a little older, with dark eyes, a very light, almost pale complexion, and black wavy hair. She smiled gratefully. "Yes, please."

He reached the book with ease, she noticed with a small degree of annoyance, and handed it to her, smiling. Hermione took it eagerly, giving him a return smile in thanks, and performed a small Shrinking charm to make it fit in her bag with the rest of her books.

"Are you interested in Potions?" he asked curiously.

"Very much so," she answered truthfully. "It's one of my favorite classes." _Or it will be once I have Slughorn teaching me, not Snape. Overgrown bat._

"Are you coming to Hogwarts? I don't recall seeing you before."

"Yes, as a seventh year. I was homeschooled, you see. Well, self-taught," she amended. She wanted to keep being Hermione Granger, Muggleborn and all, which meant she needed to work on her backstory a bit.

"I see. I'm a seventh year as well. What blood status?"

"Muggleborn," she replied, watching his face carefully. Other than a slight flicker of distaste, his expression remained carefully pleasant. "I'm guessing you're pureblood?"

"Half-blood," he smiled slightly, which could have been a grimace. "Muggle father, witch mother."

She nodded. "Well, I suppose I'll see you around, then, if we're both going to Hogwarts."

He gave her a small smile and made to leave. "I'll look forward to it. What's your name, by the way?"

"Hermione Granger, you?"

He was almost out of the shop, but turned around, the corner of his lips lifting up slightly. "Tom Riddle."

She was still staring in shock at the place he had vacated long after the door had closed.

o-0-o

That night, she paced her bedroom restlessly, gathering her thoughts. Her school supplies were in a neat stack by her bedroom door, her robes were hanging on the doorknob, and Delphi was sleeping on her bed. Under normal conditions, Hermione would be in a state of nervous excitement, wondering what the next school year would hold.

Today, however, she couldn't stop thinking about Riddle.

And the fact that she had had a normal conversation with him.

That was what scared her. She had expected, from all of Harry's tales, for Riddle to be an evil, manipulative mastermind, and perhaps he was, but in Flourish and Blotts, he had helped her get a book she was struggling to reach, and they had exchanged names and blood statuses, and she had talked to him.

And that scared her more than anything, because he behaved, _well, he behaved like a normal student._

He didn't behave how she had expected the teenage Lord Voldemort to behave. He was well-mannered, and quite polite, really, and if he was rather prejudiced against blood, well, had she ever met anyone who wasn't?

He had behaved like a normal Hogwarts student.

She shook her head to try to clear her thoughts, but they still remained jumbled in her head. She needed a Pensieve, but they were incredibly rare, and she didn't know where she would get one anyway, or even how to use it, and oh Merlin, she was rambling again.

She took a deep breath to try and steady herself.

So. Tom Riddle. She could see why no one suspected him. She gave a jolt as she remembered him getting the book for her, and realized that he was wearing the ring that Harry had always talked about. Had he made his first Horcrux already? She supposed that he had, because he had murdered his father and grandparents before his seventh year.

Oh Merlin. He had already murdered his father and grandparents.

She needed to be careful around him. It would be easy to forget that he was not only Tom Riddle, but would later become Lord Voldemort. She needed to proceed with caution.

o-0-o

Tom smiled to himself as he fingered his ever-present ring. Hermione Granger, Muggleborn. She had said that she was homeschooled, but he had seen in her eyes that she was lying. After six, about to be seven years in Slytherin, one learned to detect such things with ease.

Why would she lie?

She was clearly quite advanced in her magic, especially for a self-taught Muggleborn. Either she was quite powerful, in which case he needed to become acquainted with her, or she was lying not only about being self-taught, but about a number of other things as well.

He rubbed his thumb over the tip of the black, diamond-shaped stone and smiled slowly.

This was going to be an interesting year.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. If I was, I would own Harry Potter, which I don't. If I did, I would be rich. But I'm not. So no, I don't. Own Harry Potter, I mean.

The following Friday morning saw Hermione waking up early, her heart hammering as she tried to locate the source of the noise. She shot up quickly, her wand held out in front of her, a spell ready on her lips for the Death Eater that was standing in the corner, watching her. Then she blinked and saw that it wasn't a Death Eater but her robes hanging on her closet doorknob, and how would it be to blow Dumbledore's guest bedroom to pieces in return for his hospitality?

She grimaced and lay back down on the bed, checking the pocket-watch on her bedside table. 6:43. Brilliant. Really excellent start to the morning. The bloody sun wasn't even up yet.

She pulled her pillow over her eyes, and even though she knew she wouldn't go back to sleep, she tried anyway for another thirty minutes, before finally conceding and getting dressed in high-waisted jeans and a peasant blouse. She figured she might as well begin packing, as the train would leave that morning at 11 AM.

To her delight, she remembered that the underage magic restriction wasn't in place yet, and it took her only forty-five seconds to magic her things neatly into her trunk. The clock now read 7:16, and she left the bedroom to eat a quick bite of the grits that Dumbledore was so good at making, before scribbling a quick note to Dumbledore thanking him for his hospitality and that he knew where to owl her if he wanted to have an intellectual discussion of some kind.

Then, trunk in one hand and a mewing Delphi held in the other (the sleepy kitten tried snuggle more deeply into her blouse – thank Merlin she didn't shed), she left the cottage, breathing in the morning air.

She smiled as she gazed at the sunrise, and reveled in how peaceful everything was that morning. The sky was a million different shades of pink, the birds were chirping, and all in all it was far too happy of a morning considering that in a few hours' time, she would be going to school with Tom Riddle, the future Voldemort. She wondered if she would have to be Sorted, as this was supposed to be her first, albeit final year at Hogwarts, or if there was a separate dorm for the students who had just come to take their N.E.W.T.s. She hoped to be re-Sorted. It would be interesting to see whether she would go to Gryffindor again, or if she would go to an entirely new House. It would also let her know in what ways she had changed during the War.

Hermione realized with a start for the second time that morning that underage magic restrictions weren't in place. She grinned to herself and Apparated on the spot, reappearing at Platform 9 ¾. It was rather nice to be able to use magic whenever she needed to. She had been able to, of course, after she had graduated, but especially during the summer, she had found it particularly tiring to use the Muggle way for everything, when there was a far quicker and more efficient way to perform tasks.

She smiled as she gazed around the platform. This early in the morning, there was practically no one here. It wouldn't be hard at all to get a compartment. Maybe she could even perform a Notice-Me-Not charm on it so that no one would enter, wanting to make friends. She supposed that was a bit selfish of her, but she really wanted the time to read and gather her thoughts, not to socialize.

Having found an empty compartment near the back, she performed the charm and pulled out Hogwarts: A History; no one would find it strange at all that the new student wanted to learn more about Hogwarts, and it was comfort reading to her at this point. It was the one thing in her life that was constant, that didn't change. She needed it now more than ever. Hermione absorbed herself in the familiar pages and was soon lost to the world.

o-0-o

A particularly harsh jolt from the train caused her to jump. She hadn't realized that they were moving already. The Notice-Me-Not charm had clearly worked, as no one had come to disturb her for the entire train ride. She grimaced as she realized she needed to use the restroom. Thankfully, she had chosen a back compartment, so perhaps she could just duck in and out before anyone realized that she was there.

Taking a deep breath, she checked her surroundings before slowly sliding open the door, shutting it quickly, and hurrying to the restroom, her robes in her hand. Hermione had figured that she'd want to leave the compartment as little as possible, and so decided to go ahead and change as well.

She rather liked her robes a lot more than she had back in her time. When fastened, they were close-fitting and snug, and as a matter of fact rather flattering, especially around her waist. Barbara Smith was a master. Hermione wondered vaguely why her shop hadn't lasted.

She opened the door to the aisle cautiously, peeking around for anyone who was looking her way, but thankfully everyone seemed absorbed in their conversations. Deep in thought, she had almost made it to her compartment when she bumped into someone. Looking up, she that she had run into Tom Riddle, of all people.

Did Merlin hate her? There was no other possible explanation.

He stared at her, his head tilted slightly, as if he were trying to decide what spell would cause her the deepest pain. She grimaced, but turned it into a smile.

"Hello, Riddle. I'm terribly sorry; really, I wasn't looking where I was going. I was thinking, actually, and –''

Was that amusement she saw? She hadn't thought Riddle capable.

"Hello, Granger. And it's quite all right."

Hermione smiled painfully and made to leave, but he touched her arm lightly. "Are you sitting alone?"

"Yes, actually, why?" Hermione's smile was grating her teeth together.

"If you would like, you may sit with us. I'm sure no one would mind."

Merlin's beard, if he was trying to see if she would make a good Death Eater –

"No, thank you," she said politely. "I'm quite happy where I am."

"I must insist," Riddle said, and for a split second she saw the command behind his eyes, before they resumed to match his pleasant smile.

She finally conceded – Merlin really did hate her, she realized – and followed him to a compartment quite close to the back, pausing hesitatingly at the door.

"This is Hermione Granger," Riddle said. "She's an incoming seventh-year, and is here to take her N.E.W.T.s. She's been homeschooled. Self-taught, she told me."

The way in which he'd said that made Hermione snap her head over to him, but he wasn't even looking at her, another of his slight, fake smiles on his face. Hermione frowned at him, gave a forced smile to everyone else, and then held back another grimace as she saw that they were all Slytherins.

Merlin's pants.

One of the Slytherins, a girl with sleek, black hair, shifted to make room for her. "Hello, Granger. Would you rather I call you Hermione? I'm Oraia Greengrass."

Hermione smiled in response and couldn't recall whether the Greengrasses were on Voldemort's side during the war. If they were, at least they weren't prominent. She crossed the compartment to sit next to her, and Oraia turned to her excitedly. "So you're the new seventh-year. I don't recognize your last name, so you're either half-blood or Mudblood, although if you were a Mudblood I doubt you'd want to sit with us, so I'm guessing half-blood."

One of the boys, tall and pale, with familiar platinum-blond hair, rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Honestly, Oraia, you're going to make her think we're all Hufflepuffs." When Hermione turned to him, he cocked an eyebrow. "Abraxas Malfoy."

When Hermione didn't say anything, he raised his eyebrows and leaned back in the seat. "Well, what are you? What's your blood status? We're all dying to know here."

"Does it matter?" Hermione asked, perhaps a little snarkily, because he smirked at her and turned to Riddle, who was leaning against the compartment door with casual elegance, watching the exchange with a small smile on his face. "I'm betting on Slytherin, Tom," Abraxas said, grinning.

Hermione laughed. "Except for the fact that I'm Muggleborn."

There was complete silence. She crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised as she stared around at them all. "Well? Is that a problem?"

One girl with long, wavy light brown hair grinned suddenly. "Oh, yeah, she's definitely Slytherin. I'll bet on Granger here. I'm Cecily Parkinson," she added, holding out her hand. Hermione took it.

"You must be powerful to be self-taught," Oraia said. "Do you have any spells you can show us?"

Hermione smiled and raised her wand. "Expecto Patronum." Her otter Patronus bounded out of the end of her wand playfully, and Cecily raised her eyebrows. "I can produce a Patronus, but not a corporeal one. You should teach us sometime."

"How do you know her, Tom?" Oraia asked eagerly.

"Flourish and Blotts," Riddle said. "We just bumped into each other."

"Yes, he was extremely chivalrous," Hermione smirked, knowing "chivalrous" was the last word that Riddle would want to be described as. "He even helped me get a book I was reaching for."

Riddle's eyes flashed a warning at her – she swore his eyes flickered red for a split second – but Cecily grinned. "Is this true, Granger?"

"Every word," Hermione said.

"Ten Galleons they'll be together by the end of the year," Abraxas smirked. "I wouldn't be surprised if she does turn out to be the one girl that manages to catch his interest. She certainly has the looks." He winked at her, and she felt her cheeks grow warm.

"Oh Abraxas, stop it," Cecily snapped. "We haven't even known her five minutes, and you're already flirting."

Hermione smirked in spite of herself. She leaned back and watched the two bicker. Oraia caught her eye and they grinned at each other, and she decided that maybe Slytherins weren't all evil after all.

o-0-o

She was a bundle of nerves as they got off the train into Hogsmeade Station.

"You'll ride on the boats instead of the carriages," Oraia told her.

"With the first years?" Hermione asked dryly.

Oraia flashed her a smile. "You never know, you might enjoy it. Although," she added, as a thought seemed to occur to her, "I suppose we could just smuggle you onto the carriages. I'm sure no one would know."

Hermione suddenly saw why Oraia wasn't a Hufflepuff.

o-0-o

She was in one of the carriages with the Slytherins she had met in the compartment, except for Riddle, who was Head Boy and rode in a separate carriage with the other Head. She had her hood pulled up to hide her face, and another Notice-Me-Not charm had ensured that the teachers' gazes would slide right past her.

Her younger self would have been horrified.

_But_ , she mused, _after a year of fighting Death Eaters, sneaking a ride into the carriages seems quite tame by comparison._

She and Oraia grinned at each other conspiratorially, and she decided that even if she was placed in Gryffindor again, she still wanted to be friends.

When the carriages stopped, she was able to get off in time to join the first-years, who were congregated in front of the Hall. It seemed as if no one had noticed her absence. Oraia really was a genius.

She walked with the rest of the first-years, feeling strangely out of place among so many tiny people, and more than a little embarrassed. She wanted it over with as quickly as possible, but stayed near the back so she could avoid attracting attention.

When her name was finally called, she heard a lot of whispering among the students. Apparently having new seventh-years was a strange and rare occurrence. She grimaced. Bloody brilliant.

She sat on the rickety stool and placed the hat upon her head. Ah, it said, or rather thought; she had always wondered how this worked. _Now, this is interesting._

_Good interesting or bad interesting?_ Dread filled her stomach.

 _Good, definitely good. I haven't seen a case so hard since Albus Dumbledore. Now, let's see. A thirst for knowledge, that's clear enough. Extraordinary intelligence, and resourcefulness. And bravery, so much bravery. But where to put you?_

Hermione stayed quiet while the hat thought. _Difficult, very difficult. Do you have a preference?_

_Not Gryffindor,_ Hermione realized suddenly. _I'd like something different this time around._

Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd just revealed, but the hat chuckled. _Don't worry, Miss Granger. I'm a hat, you see. It's my job to Sort, not to tell secrets._ She exhaled in relief.

_So, not Gryffindor, eh? Hmmm… Then I suppose, better be…_

"Slytherin!"

She gasped. _Slytherin?_ That was the _last_ House she would have expected. Her eyes were wide even as she placed the Sorting Hat back onto the stool and hurried to sit over with her acquaintances from the train. She gave them all a strained smile and they smiled back, seeming to know what she was thinking.

Slytherin. How in Merlin's name could she be a Slytherin if she was an ex-Gryffindor? She wasn't a Slytherin! She was _Hermione Granger._ Hermione Granger wasn't a Slytherin. Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor, the brightest witch of her age, yes, but –

Then she realized. _Brightest witch of her age._ She had always been driven to prove herself, to show everyone that she was just as talented as the purebloods, even better, in fact, even though she didn't come from a magical background. Her driving force had always been ambition, even if she hadn't realized it. And during the war, her other Slytherin traits had shown themselves in her more than ever: her cunning, her resourcefulness…

"But I'm Muggleborn," she whispered, not realizing she was saying it out loud.

"It happens," Cecily shrugged. "Not a lot, of course, but Mud – Muggleborns are occasionally Sorted into Slytherin, and most of the time they prove to be just as talented as the purebloods."

"Although Mudblood Slytherins do tend to be bullied more than most," Oraia said quietly, not even seeming to realize she was speaking.

Cecily shot her a sharp look. "Perhaps, but that's just the Gryffindors, and no one cares what they think anyway. Reckless idiots."

"Besides, we'll stick by you," Abraxas said, giving her a reassuring smile. "It'll be hard for a lot of our Housemates to swallow, but we won't abandon you to the wolves."

Hermione gave them all a genuine smile, feeling some of her loneliness dissipate. "Thanks. I mean it."

Oraia took her hand and squeezed it. "Of course, Hermione. Slytherins protect their own."

Hermione squeezed back, not noticing Tom Riddle watching her with a thoughtful expression on his face.

o-0-o

That night, after the start-of-term speech in the common room from her new House Head, Slughorn (who was far younger than the Slughorn she knew), she climbed sleepily up the stairs into the dormitory she shared with Oraia, Cecily, and a pale, blond girl who introduced herself as Lucretia Black, and collapsed onto the bed. Delphi climbed on top of her, apparently upset at having been left alone since the train ride, and promptly fell asleep. Hermione stroked the top of her soft head absentmindedly. Then she gently lifted the Kneazle kitten off of her robes and placed her on the comfortable bed and began unpacking, more to keep herself busy than for anything else.

She kept most of her clothes in her trunk, as she could smooth them out with an ironing charm later, and mostly focused on arranging her books in neat rows on the small, waist-high bookshelf beside her nightstand. Once that was done, she changed into the soft Slytherin pajamas that had been laid out for her (she had to admit that she did look rather good in green), climbed under the equally-green comforter, and fell asleep immediately.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, blah blah blah.

Hermione arose early the next morning, fully intent on making a good impression. After donning her Slytherin robes (it still felt weird to wear the colors of her once-rival House), she was about to head out the door into the common room when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around to find that it was Cecily, with Oraia standing behind her.

"Morning," Hermione began uncertainly.

"Hermione," Oraia said patiently. "Are you seriously going to go out of the dormitory with your hair like that?"

"With my hair like what?"

"This!" Cecily gestured to the mane of hair that framed Hermione's soft face. "The frizz, Hermione. We need to fix it. Immediately."

"I think it's fine," she protested, as she was dragged towards the bathroom, one girl holding each arm.

They sat her down and started brushing it, but that only made it expand further.

"Merlin," Oraia muttered. "I didn't think it was possibly to have hair this big."

Cecily's eyes brightened. "Let's get Lucretia."

"Good idea, Cily," Oraia grinned. "Although I think you should be the one to wake her up, since you suggested it."

Cecily scowled but complied, and a few minutes later, she was dragging a sleepy and incredibly grumpy Lucretia Black into the now rather crowded bathroom.

"Merlin's beard," Lucretia growled, "if you dragged me in here for anything less than a catastrophic emergency, I swear I'll – Salazar!" the girl yelped as she caught sight of Hermione's hair for the first time.

Hermione grinned. "Does this qualify?"

"How did your hair even _get_ like this?" Lucretia murmured, with something akin to awe. "Well, no matter, no matter. I'm a Black, Hermione, and I'll be hanged if I can't get your hair looking soft and silky in thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes, huh?" Hermione asked, rather impressed, as Lucretia finished brushing all of the tangles out, leaving an extremely bushy, albeit tangle-free mess.

"Thirty minutes," the blond said firmly, and, pulling out her wand, she began to murmur several charms that Hermione had never heard of.

"Oh, wait, Lucretia!" Oraia exclaimed. Lucretia turned toward her, looking rather cross, but Oraia handed her a blindfold that she must have transfigured, looking rather mischievous. "Put this on her. That way it'll be a surprise."

Lucretia smirked, and a couple of seconds later, Hermione was completely blindfolded, not knowing what they were doing to her hair, and still rather mistrustful. Were they going to straighten it? Merlin, if they did, she didn't know if she'd even recognize herself.

True to her word, thirty minutes later, Lucretia finally stopped muttering spells, but still didn't take the blindfold off. "What do you think, girls?"

There was complete silence, then Oraia murmured, "Merlin, Lucretia."

"You're a master," Cecily agreed.

"What did I tell you? I'm a Black," Lucretia said, rather arrogantly. "Are you ready, Hermione?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," she muttered, and Lucretia untied the blindfold, and Hermione stared at her reflection in shock.

She hadn't straightened it, thank Merlin, but the bushy mess that had framed her face had been replaced with soft, gentle curls that stopped just below her shoulders. Now that her face wasn't swallowed by her mass of hair, she had an appearance of control, which harmonized well with her Slytherin uniform. In addition, the curls set off her eyes, which she had already been rather proud of, so that they appeared larger and darker. Hermione raised a hand to touch one of her brunette curls, and it felt smoother and softer than she had ever known her hair to feel.

She looked up at Lucretia in amazement, who laughed at her expression. "Now you look like a proper Slytherin," she smirked. "And the best thing is, the charm will never wear off."

"Thank you," Hermione laughed as she rose from the chair. "I think I'll owe you for the rest of my life or something."

Lucretia twirled on of Hermione's curls around her finger, and Cecily and Oraia liked Hermione's arms in theirs. "Something like that," Lucretia agreed.

"Now come on," Cecily grinned. "Let's show you off to the world."

o-0-o

Abraxas wolf-whistled as Hermione approached the Slytherin table, earning a smack on the head from Cecily and making Hermione blush a deep crimson. "You clean up well," he grinned arrogantly, running a hand through his white-blond hair.

"Thanks," Hermione laughed.

"Some more people I forgot to introduce you to," he said.

"We can introduce ourselves, Malfoy," a boy with messy black hair said, looking amused. "I'm Rufus Lestrange. You're Hermione Granger, right? The new girl?"

"I am," Hermione said, raising her eyebrows slightly. It was rather surprising, although it shouldn't be, how many pureblood families were Sorted into Slytherin.

"Dorian Nott," a brown-haired, freckled boy said, smiling slightly.

"Abaris Avery," said a boy with light blond hair.

"Pleased to meet you all," Hermione said politely.

"So kind," Lestrange put a hand over his heart in mock affection.

Hermione noticed Riddle enter the Great Hall out of the corner of her eye, and it seemed to her that all of the boys, and even some of the girls too, straightened slightly. She frowned. Was there something going on here that she wasn't aware of?

Then it hit her. Of course. Riddle was the leader of the Death Eaters, some of which were at this very table. She grimaced. She had gotten too comfortable around him, forgetting that he was the future Voldemort.

It was just so _easy_ to forget.

He sat down, and Cecily gestured to Hermione. "Well, Tom? What do you think?"

Riddle stared at Hermione blankly, his head tilted slightly as if he were trying to figure out what he was supposed to be looking at, and she smiled into her pumpkin juice. He was Tom Riddle. Of course he wouldn't notice anything different; girls were certainly not something he paid any attention to, although she knew plenty probably paid attention to him. She wondered with amusement whether he even remembered what her past mess of hair had looked like in the first place.

Before he could say anything, Slughorn bustled over to hand them their schedules. Then he turned to her and said, his walrus mustache quivering, "I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that you will have to take some tests so the administration can see where to put you. You'll need to head to the Headmaster's office. Terribly sorry, but that's Headmaster Dippet's say, not mine."

"That's all right, sir," Hermione said. "Although I do hope I qualify to take your Potions class. I've heard you're one of the very best."

Slughorn beamed at her, obviously pleased. "Why, thank you, Miss Granger, you're very kind. I believe I will quite enjoy you in my class, I think you will do quite well. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll need to hand out these other schedules."

As he hurried away, Hermione turned to see everyone grinning at her.

"What?"

"Oh," Abraxas said, waving his hand, "it's nothing, really, except for one of the most masterful sucking-ups I've ever seen."

Hermione gave him a strange look. "What in Merlin's name are you on about?"

"It was quite clever, really, Hermione. You made a good impression on him, and you only talked to him for half a minute," Abaris Avery said, grinning.

"You fit in well," Riddle smiled.

Hermione laughed. "I don't think I even realized I was doing it."

"And that," Rufus Lestrange said, "is the mark of a true Slytherin. It's so ingrained into you that it comes naturally."

Hermione blushed slightly from all of the attention. "Well, thanks, I suppose." She took a long drink from her pumpkin juice so she wouldn't have to speak again, and to her relief, when she finished swallowing, they were already onto a new topic. She allowed herself to become lost in thought for a moment and she mentally went over all of the spells that she knew, as well as potions instructions and incantations.

After breakfast, she followed everyone out of the Great Hall, but instead of heading to Defense Against the Dark Arts, she climbed the tower to Headmaster Dippet's study (there was no password). There she found a few teachers waiting for her, as well as Headmaster Dippet and, to her surprise and delight, Dumbledore, to whom she gave a small smile but otherwise showed no sign of recognition. If she showed that she knew him, it would just make everyone ask questions.

"Hello, Miss Granger," Dippet smiled. He was a very old, rather frail-looking man. "I suppose you know why you are here."

Hermione nodded. "I'm here to take my placement test, aren't I?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. They shouldn't take long, and you should be able to head on to second period once we're through."

Hermione nodded again. She was impatient to show off what she knew. Now that she was in Riddle's "friend" group (she wasn't sure he actually considered them friends, in the real sense of the word), she didn't need to not draw attention to herself. It might be easier anyway for Riddle to acknowledge that she was bright; he wouldn't suspect her as much.

The first test was for Defense Against the Dark Arts, which, naturally, she aced. One didn't fight in a war against the Dark Arts and Voldemort himself, and not do well in the examination. Potions was quite effortless for her as well – she was asked to brew a Drought of Living Death, which she had done already. Herbology was easy, Charms was easy, Transfiguration, History of Magic, all of it was easy, and when she was finished, the teachers were all looking extremely impressed.

"You're a self-taught Muggleborn, you say?" Dippet asked, stroking his mustache.

"Yes, sir," Hermione replied, blocking her mind in case anyone there was a Legilimens. No one was, apparently, but she kept her shields up just in case.

"I'll be quite frank with you, Miss Granger. The only other student that I have seen this far advanced, this skilled, is Tom Riddle, with whom I assume you are already acquainted."

Hermione raised her eyebrows slightly and nodded. "Does that mean I can have the same schedule as everyone else, sir?"

"If you would like, you may take additional, advanced classes such as Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Alchemy. Mr. Riddle is also taking those classes, so there would be someone you know there. I believe you are quite ahead of the regular curriculum."

Hermione was ecstatic, although she didn't dare show it on her face. Riddle clearly didn't trust her, but perhaps if she was able to get close to him through these classes, he might a bit more. It seemed as if the advanced classes were only for a select few, and this would be the perfect opportunity to gain his trust.

Also, she was quite sure she would be rather bored in the regular classes. If she didn't have something with which she could challenge herself, she might go crazy.

She accepted.

o-0-o

After Dippet gave her the schedule she would have for the rest of the year, she saw that the class going on at the moment was Advanced Potions. She smiled to herself (she had read Most Potente Potions in its entirety the day before she had left Dumbledore's cottage) and made her way down to the drafty dungeons. Clasping her robes together so that they fitted snugly around her, straightening her green and silver tie, and smoothing out her hair, she took a deep breath before pushing the heavy doors open and stepping hesitatingly inside. Of course, the hesitation was only an act, but they needn't know that.

The room was only occupied by seven students, and Slughorn stood at the front, apparently at the beginning of teaching a lesson. She closed the door behind her, and smiled, slightly embarrassed, as everyone turned to look at her.

"Why, Miss Granger!" Slughorn bellowed happily. "Come in, come in. There's an empty seat over here at the front, if you would like. Right next to Tom's table, there you go."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione smiled. An entire table to herself? This day kept getting better and better.

"Now," Slughorn resumed, once Hermione was settled and seated in her chair with _Advanced Potion Making_ closed in front of her, "who can tell me Golpalott's Third Law?"

Hermione, determined to not be a teacher's pet this time around, dutifully kept her hand down until Riddle raised his.

"Yes, Tom?" Slughorn beamed, apparently pleased at being able to call upon his favorite student.

"An antidote is more than the sum of its parts," Riddle said.

"Excellent, excellent," Slughorn smiled broadly. "Take five points to Slytherin – but yes, Miss Granger has a question?"

"Well, I was going to elaborate, sir," Hermione said. "Golpalott's Third Law actually states that the antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components."

Slughorn looked amazed. "Why, that's word-for-word, Miss Granger! Excellent! Take ten points to Slytherin!"

Hermione smirked, but not before catching sight of Riddle – he looked more than distinctly annoyed.

This was going to be fun.

Slughorn set them to brewing an antidote for the poison he had given them, and at the end of the lesson, Hermione and Riddle were the only students who had managed to successfully brew one. She caught his eye and saw him watching her curiously. She gave him a small smile back in the hopes that he would not see her as a potential rival, but a fellow student.

They both received fifteen points for their perfect antidotes, and as they left the dungeon, Hermione clutching her book bag on her arm, he didn't look at her for the rest of the way to the Great Hall where they would have lunch. After reaching the entrance, however, he stopped abruptly, and motioned for her to follow him to the library. She did so with a growing sense of unease, and she clutched her wand loosely in case she would have to use it.

The library was thankfully deserted except for the librarian, and they chose a table in a back corner so they could talk undisturbed. Having set his book bag onto the table, he leaned against it and, running his fingers through his wavy black hair, Riddle said quietly, "I don't believe you."

"I'm sorry?" Hermione frowned. "About what?"

"About you being homeschooled, or self-taught, or whatever it is that you are telling people. You're lying."

"Where do you get that idea?" Hermione asked innocently.

He stared down at her, his dark eyes narrowed. She suddenly realized just how tall he was and resisted the urge to take a step back. She stared up at him challengingly.

Riddle leaned his head back casually and stared up at the ceiling. "Granger, either you are a Mud – Muggleborn, or you are homeschooled. I don't believe one word about you being self-taught. No one can be as knowledgeable as you are and not have had a teacher. But," he continued, glaring at her as she opened her mouth to say something, "that gives me the question as to _why_ you are lying. If you are a Muggleborn, where do you come from? I cannot see you going to Beauxbaton's, much less Durmstrang, which only leaves Hogwarts, except that you have obviously never been to Hogwarts. I cannot figure you out, Granger, and I do not like things that I don't know."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Well, I'm terribly sorry, Riddle, but I'm afraid it'll have to stay that way. You and I both have secrets. That much is clear. You don't pry into my secrets, and I won't pry into yours."

Riddle tilted his aristocratic head, appraising her. "Is that a threat?"

"It's whatever you make it to be," Hermione said, shrugging. "If you think it's a threat, then it quite possibly is. I don't quite know myself. But know this, Riddle," she stepped forward, so that they were a mere hair's breadth apart. "If you try to expose me, I _will_ expose you."

He stared down at her, and then his mouth twisted up in a smile. "You know, Granger, there are few that would dare to threaten me."

Hermione smiled faintly. "Then let me be one of the first."

She held out her hand, and Riddle, after a moment's hesitation, took it firmly, then shook his head slightly and let out a cold laugh. "You become more of a mystery every time we interact, Granger. Just answer me this, and honestly: are you Muggleborn, or are you not?"

"I am," she affirmed. "That much is true, at least. Shall we head to lunch?"

She brushed past him without waiting for an answer, her heart hammering in her throat.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, I never have, and I never will. That's rather sad.

Hermione was uncharacteristically quiet all through lunch, and thankfully, since she had only known her lunch mates for a brief amount of time, no one noticed anything off and carried on their conversations as normal. But she was worried, although she wouldn't admit it to anyone, much less why.

She had just threatened Riddle.

She had come here to blend in, kill him, and change the future. But she was beginning to realize that that was far more difficult than she had initially thought. For one thing, Riddle was annoyingly observant. He was able to take note of the things and events surrounding him and make connections that most others wouldn't piece together. A lot of it was her fault as well, she was now realizing. She had drawn too much attention to herself. She had incorrectly assumed that her place among his friends (or servants, or followers, or whatever he thought of them as) had made her trustworthy, and so had acted foolishly in Potions, shown herself to be more knowledgeable than he, and had attracted his attention.

She believed he now even considered her as a threat.

Hermione suddenly thought of something that would also hinder her plans – she had come here to kill him, but she didn't know _how._ She knew she wasn't willing to use the Killing Curse (and she also knew that she probably wouldn't get a chance to, anyway), but even besides that, he still had his Horcrux, the ring. She needed to destroy that first, but she had no means to.

She was, in short, in a bit of a predicament.

She was deep in thought all the way through lunch and during the walk to the Transfiguration classroom, when the students' sudden stopping made her look up. Everyone was congregated near the door, with no one going in.

"I heard he's going to assign us partners," she heard someone whisper. Hermione wondered who "he" was, when the classroom door opened and out walked Dumbledore.

She grinned in delight – she had never been taught by Dumbledore, and this was sure to be an interesting experience.

He called their names one at a time, and they entered in the order in which they were called, standing together at the back of the classroom. Then Dumbledore began to read out from another list of names, two at a time, and quite randomly, it seemed, and Hermione learned that the person she was paired with would be her partner for the rest of the year.

She waited anxiously for her name to be called, praying silently and slightly desperately that she wouldn't be paired with one name in particular. Although, with her luck, of course, it would –

"Granger, Riddle, come sit at table 12."

She almost stormed out of the classroom right then and there, but settled for internally screaming every swear she could think up at the top of her head as she walked slowly to her death.

 _Merlin's beard, Merlin's pants, Merlin's saggy left_ – she shouldn't say that one – _I mean, what are the odds? How on earth does Fate hate me this much? What have I done to deserve this?_

She set her bag onto the floor and sat down with a slight huff. Glancing to the left, in the seat next to hers, she saw that Riddle looked about just as happy. Their eyes met, and he seemed to convey, with the venomous way in which he was glaring at her, the command that this would never be discussed and that they would ignore each other as much as possible.

She agreed, just as silently.

Even though she loathed her partner (really, what were the odds that she would get paired up with the future Lord Voldemort?), she quickly realized that Dumbledore's classes were a lot of fun. He was incredibly interactive with his students, and rather than telling them what they needed to know, he allowed them to come to the conclusion themselves. In fact, Riddle seemed to be the only student who wasn't enjoying himself. But, she supposed, that was probably because of his past history with the man, from what Harry had told her.

Harry. She missed him terribly.

She shook her head, inhaled sharply, and set to work Transfiguring the owl on her desk into a cat. It was incredibly difficult, as their compositions were completely different, but nevertheless, she was the second one to finish, and a tawny cat sat on her desk, licking its paws. Glancing to the side, she saw that Riddle had finished just before her, and was now staring at his black cat as if he couldn't comprehend why they were doing something this pointless.

Hermione smiled to herself. He probably would have wanted to Transfigure his owl into a snake or something. She had never quite understood his fascination with them.

She leaned back and absentmindedly twirled one of her soft curls around her finger. She still wasn't used to her hair this controlled, but she had to admit that she rather liked it; it didn't get in her way once, and it really was rather flattering, although she couldn't really care less about that sort of thing.

Hermione glanced around the room. Once again, she and Riddle were the only ones so far to complete the task, just like it had been in the Advanced Potions class. She thought of seeing Harry and Ron again and performed a nonverbal Patronus charm, and her otter came scampering out of the end and started playing with the now-curious cat, who tried to bat at it.

She glanced to the left to see Riddle staring at the otter, almost hungrily. "Playfulness and creativity," he murmured. Surprised, she turned to stare at him.

"What's yours?" she asked.

He smiled, and it was twisted and bitter. "I can't cast one," he said. "It's the only spell yet that I haven't been able to perform. I've tried."

"Well, you need a happy memory," Hermione began, but Riddle's eyes flashed red for a split second, and she froze. "I know how the spell works, Granger."

Hermione bit her lip nervously. To know he had made a Horcrux was one thing, but to see its effects… Then she understood. There was no happy memory in his life for him to use.

She nodded and turned back to her desk, where her otter was darting about her desk playfully. Of course he wouldn't be able to cast one. He had been raised in a bleak orphanage until he was eleven, and when he arrived at Hogwarts he had spent all of his time gathering followers and finding out how to become immortal.

Figures.

"Dementors are useful creatures," he said, so quietly that Hermione had to strain to hear him. "I don't need to repel them; I need to make them loyal."

Hermione cast a quick _Muffliato;_ she could tell that Dumbledore would probably not approve of this strange conversation. She turned toward him.

"Make them loyal?" she asked, just as quietly. "How do you mean?"

His head snapped up, and he stared at her, his dark eyes narrowed in thought. Taking a deep breath, Hermione continued. "I wouldn't exactly call Dementors 'useful', Riddle. They… they do terrible things to people."

"Which is exactly why they are useful. They instill fear far better than an individual wizard can."

"But why would you need to instill fear in the first place?" Hermione asked, incredulous. "Isn't it far better to make everyone trust you? You can do far more that way than by beginning a reign of terror."

"You're thinking of Robespierre," Riddle said, nodding. "His ideas were brilliant. That one needs to force the people to have freedom will make them believe that they truly do have it."

"Yes, he was brilliant," Hermione said sarcastically. "So brilliant that his Reign of Terror lasted for exactly one year, and then his followers turned on him and he was executed by the guillotine."

He gave a dry chuckle. "But he paved the way for Napoleon to take over," he said, smiling strangely. "Napoleon, who became emperor."

"Napoleon was incredibly successful," Hermione conceded. "But he was still exiled in the end."

"Only because he was defeated," Riddle argued. "And he influenced the entire world."

"But everyone who tries to take power will eventually be defeated, one way or another," she said, starting to get frustrated. "Even wizards. Grindelwald is known as the most powerful Dark wizard of our era, and he was still defeated by Dumbledore last year."

"Yes, Dumbledore," Riddle scoffed. "The greatest wizard of our time."

His tone was so bitter that Hermione stared at him. He had a brittle smile on his face, and his eyes were glimmering with long-suppressed hatred. She held back a shiver. What had Dumbledore done to earn such condemnation from him?

She snapped her head up as Dumbledore approached, and she silently cast a _Finite_ on the muffling charm. Dumbledore peered down at their cats, which were batting at each other, and beamed at the pair of them. "Excellent work, Miss Granger, Mr. Riddle. Take ten points each."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione beamed. Riddle cleared his throat and, suddenly all smiles, thanked Dumbledore as well. If Hermione hadn't seen his scowl from a few minutes ago, she would have truly believed it was genuine.

Riddle was many things, but a bad actor was not one of them.

They packed up quickly, and once class was dismissed, he left without even glancing at her once. Hermione frowned; she wasn't complaining, of course, as any time spent away from him was time well-spent, but she still felt that it was a rather anticlimactic end to their argument.

Then her eyes widened as she realized that in their argument, he hadn't hidden his true opinions underneath his perfect Head Boy act. He admired Robespierre, and Napoleon, and Grindelwald, approved of using fear rather than instilling trust, and had outwardly showed his hatred for Dumbledore.

Maybe she was getting somewhere after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The idea that I own Harry Potter is about as likely as the idea that my father is the inventor of Toaster Strudel.

The following weeks, Hermione pushed herself to excel harder than ever. Now that Riddle knew she was intelligent, and since they had made their pact in the library, she assumed it was safe to try and pass him in their marks; he was certainly the only person she had ever had to work hard to beat. She would stay up late in the dark common room, long after everyone had gone to bed, reviewing all of the different laws of Transfiguration, or the twelve uses of dragon's blood, or studying hard for an examination.

Hermione knew, although he didn't mention it, that he was doing the same.

It was making her lose sleep at night, actually. She would sometimes lie in her dormitory bed for hours on end, reciting different spells or incantations or potions instructions, and even though she knew, deep down, that none of this would ever matter, especially if she found a way to return to her own time, her pride refused to let her back down, or not be the most intelligent one in the room.

So she studied and studied and studied, and although it was reminiscent of her third year, and not particularly in a good way, and her eyelids grew dark from lack of sleep, she continued to push herself, and people in the hallway whispered about the new girl, who was surely the brightest witch of her age, and how they'd heard that she was homeschooled and possibly self-taught, and how no one could rival her except for Tom Riddle. How they would probably someday change the world.

Hermione found it darkly funny how _much_ that was true. Her time was completely different from this one, and it was all because of her Transfiguration partner, and her rival. He would change the world, just not in the way that they thought.

The handsome aristocratic seventeen-year-old – her age, as a matter of fact – sitting right next to her, performing the assignment Dumbledore had given them, and trying to do it more perfectly than anyone else in order to gain an extra ten points for Slytherin.

It was all rather odd, really.

Hermione twirled her vine wand in her fingers as she watched him summon a snake, enlarge it using Engorgio, and proceed to Transfigure it into a spider with an almost bored ease. She didn't know why in Merlin's name anyone would need to do that in real life, but it was a rather interesting assignment. Her own spider, large and hairy and completely revolting, sat on her desk, clicking its pincers rather menacingly.

She wished Dumbledore would hurry up and check it so that she could change it into something more pleasant.

As Riddle stared at his spider, something strange happened. The spider, which had been sitting placidly on his desk, suddenly scurried back and forth, reared on its hind legs, and then began to click its pincers in a peculiar rhythm. He gazed at it with a twisted, almost satisfied smile on his face, and Hermione suddenly understood. He was using the Imperius Curse on it.

She supposed she shouldn't be surprised; she wasn't, really. Mostly she was just curious as to why he was doing it in front of her, why he wasn't hiding behind his perfect Head Boy act. She closed her eyes and shook her head. At least he wasn't making it hurt itself, or something.

Hermione hadn't realized she'd said that last part aloud until he'd snapped his head up to stare at her. "You know what I am doing," he said. It wasn't a question, and he smiled slightly. "How, if you are homeschooled?"

"I thought we'd agreed to not pry?" she snapped, and his eyes glittered. "Yes, but you just make it so easy, Granger. It's as if… you are not even trying anymore."

She cast a _Muffliato_ and leaned toward him, tilting her head. "You aren't either, Riddle. Performing the Imperius Curse where everyone can see you? Really?"

Riddle's lips tilted up wryly. "I doubt they would know the Imperius Curse if it stared them in the face."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, then remembered the war, and said, "I suppose you're right."

He stared at her as if she were a curious rune he was attempting to decipher. "I don't understand you," he said slowly. "You are the model student, yet know what the Imperius Curse looks like, and you don't even seem to be terribly surprised that I am using it."

Hermione smiled at him and leaned back in her chair. "Like I said, I have secrets too. I know things about you that even you don't know."

Riddle stared at her a moment longer, then let out a dry laugh; it was high and cold, and it sent an unpleasant chill up her spine. "You say that, and then expect me not to pry?"

"Yes," Hermione said softly. "Because if you pry, I will expose your Horcrux."

His mouth opened slightly, and he gazed at her as if he had never seen her before. "How do you know about that?" His voice was quiet, but it was laced with danger.

"I have my ways."

Riddle stared at her a moment longer, then nodded as a final piece seemed to fit together in his head. "You aren't here just to take your N.E.W.T.s, are you?"

Hermione shook her head slowly. "I can't tell you the reason, though. I'm, well, I suppose I'm sworn to secrecy."

"By whom?"

"Myself."

Riddle smiled. "There are ways to make you talk."

Hermione thought of the Cruciatus curse, and her lips twitched upward. "Would you like to know something, Riddle?"

He said nothing, but he lifted his eyebrow slightly. Hermione leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees, and he leaned against the side of the desk casually, inclining slightly toward her as well. She was slightly uncomfortable at how close they were but forced herself to keep eye contact.

"There was a madwoman who was notorious for her Cruciatus curse," Hermione said. "She tortured a friend of mine's parents into insanity, and they were Aurors."

Riddle was staring at her, seeming to hang on her every word.

"She put me under the Cruciatus, too," she said softly. "She interrogated me while I was under it. And you know what, Riddle?"

He lifted his eyebrows a fraction in invitation.

 _"I lied,"_ Hermione whispered. "It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before, felt like my bones were being fractured into a million pieces and all of my insides were being torn out, and I _lied._ I'm quite sure that you will get nothing out of me."

Riddle smiled, impressed, and also… pleased? He tilted his head, appraising her. "I admit I underestimated you."

Hermione thought of third year, and how she had walked up to Draco, sick of him, and had punched him in the face. She thought of Rita Skeeter, how after the woman had published all of those horrible articles about her, she had kept the woman as her beetle form in a tiny jar until the end of the school year, and this at the age of fourteen. She thought of Umbridge, that evil toad, and how Hermione had tricked her into going to the Forbidden Forest, and the woman had gotten carried off by centaurs, and how she was never quite the same afterward.

A corner of her lip tilted up, and she stared him directly in the eyes, a communication tactic she had learned from Harry. "Most people learn not to do it more than once."

o-0-o

Hermione really hadn't meant to reveal all of that about herself to Riddle, no matter how satisfying it felt to see the fascinated look on his face, and hear his approval of things she hadn't lied about, things that she had actually done, that were _real._

Then she stopped right in the hallway. Why did she seek his approval? He was _Tom Riddle._ The future Lord Voldemort! What did it matter that he was the first person she had ever met who intellectually challenged her, or that he actually listened to her, or –

 _Merlin's beard._ She must be going crazy.

Hermione decided to go to the library. Maybe it would put some sense into her head, sense that she had clearly lost.

She shouldered her book bag and made the familiar walk to her favorite part of the castle, pushing open the oak doors and smiling at the lovely sight of the tens of thousands of carefully shelved tomes. The library was thankfully not as silent as it had been in her time, and the quiet whispers of the studious students created a relaxing ambience. She made her way to the back of the library, and then froze.

He was sitting in her chair, reading a book of runes. _Her chair._ The chair that she had occupied from the time when she was eleven to her very last days at Hogwarts, and finally here. And now he had taken it. She pursed her lips and gave him a death glare, even though he wouldn't see it.

"Riddle," she finally said shortly.

He looked up, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "Granger."

"You're sitting in my chair." Hermione knew it sounded terribly childish, but this was the chair that had been there for her in her first year, when she was alone and friendless, and in third year, when the boys had stopped speaking to her because she had turned in Harry's Firebolt, thinking it was jinxed, and she was again alone, and every other time besides that. This chair had been her only friend.

And now he was sitting in it. It felt like a betrayal.

His lips twitched slightly and he returned his attention to his book. "I'm terribly sorry."

Hermione stared at him, decided that maybe he had been there first and perhaps it wouldn't be terribly polite to force him out of it, even if it was hers, and instead pulled up a chair next to him and settled in that. It wasn't as comfortable as her chair, but it would have to do. Pulling out _Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration,_ she immersed herself in its pages.

She was startled from the book by the scratching of a quill. Hermione turned and saw Riddle writing the essay that Professor Merrythought had assigned them for Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Oh, that's right," she said suddenly, pulling out her essay. "Can you read mine?"

He stared at her as if she had suddenly grown horns. "I mean," she said, flushing slightly, "can you look over it, check for any mistakes?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I'll look over yours when you're done with it," she said, exasperated. "It's called being study partners."

Riddle still stared at her suspiciously. "I thought we were competing, Granger."

Hermione shrugged. "We don't have to. I think we actually could achieve a lot more if we work together."

He raised an eyebrow. "What in Salazar's name makes you say that?"

She stared at him for a moment, and then shook her head, irritated. "Nevermind." She returned to her book, only to hear him sigh and pull it over to read. She suppressed a triumphant smirk and instead pretended to be absorbed in her book, hearing his quill scratch as he crossed things out and made annotations. She frowned; she hadn't actually thought there was all that much wrong with it.

"Here," he said shortly. "And –" he appeared to be struggling with himself, then passed his now-finished essay over to her.

Hermione grinned.

o-0-o

She sat in the aristocratically comfortable common room on a lounge chair, reading and marking Riddle's Potions essay. He sat next to her, reviewing hers, and Abraxas sat on her other side, regarding the two of them with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione looked up, and noticed where he was gazing. "What?" she snapped.

He tilted his head, leaning an arm carelessly over the arm of the leather couch. "Nothing," he said casually. "Just noting that the two of you look suspiciously like an item, for you to not be an item."

Riddle looked up from Hermione's essay to stare at him, and Hermione gaped at him incredulously. "What in Salazar's name makes you say that, Abraxas?"

"Just the way you two act around each other," he shrugged. "For the past two weeks, you've been looking over each other's essays, you're always sitting next to each other, and it seems almost as if you're never a second apart from one another. It seems terribly sudden for it to be a coincidence. I think you owe me ten Galleons."

"If I didn't know better," Hermione said, smirking, "I'd say you were jealous." Abraxas made an outraged protesting noise, and she laughed. "Well, I'll have you know that there's absolutely nothing for you to be jealous about."

Riddle nodded in agreement, still staring at Abraxas as though he had grown a second head. Abraxas threw Hermione a wicked grin, throwing an arm around her shoulder and tugging her close to him. "More for me, then."

Hermione half-laughed, half-scoffed, and shrugged his arm off, ignoring how nice it felt. "Shut up, you scoundrel," she muttered, and he laughed, delighted.

"I think we're having a bad influence on her, Tom."

She glared at him, but ruined the effect by the smile she sent his way. He winked, making her roll her eyes, and then yawned and stretched, running a hand through his already carefully-tousled white-blond hair. "I think I'll head to bed."

"Good," Hermione quipped. "Maybe that means we'll actually have some peace and quiet."

Abraxas grinned and ruffled her curly hair before heading up to the boys' dormitories.

"He's got it bad," Oraia muttered. Hermione stared for a moment between her and Cecily, who was nodding vigorously, before she finally realized what they meant, and her eyes grew wide.

"Me? _Me?_ Oh, you can't possibly –"

"Are you blind, Hermione?" Cecily exclaimed. "He's been flirting with you nonstop ever since you sat with us on the train!"

"I thought he flirts with everyone, though," said Hermione, confused.

"Well, yeah, that's just Abraxas. But he flirts with you differently," Oraia said. "It's pretty obvious, actually."

Riddle scratched out something on her essay with perhaps a little more force than was needed.

"But why me? I don't think I'm really the type of person that a guy like him would… would be interested in."

"Hermione," said Cecily abruptly, "have you ever dated anyone?"

"Well, yeah," Hermione said slowly. "Two, I think. One was a guy I met at… at a dance, and the other was a childhood friend. That last one was a lot longer. We were engaged, actually, but he broke it off."

"You were _engaged?"_ Oraia exclaimed in shock. "At seventeen?!"

"I thought that was normal?"

"Merlin, Hermione, of course not!" Cecily shook her head slowly. "I mean, that's impressive and everything, but _Merlin."_

Hermione shrugged. "I was homeschooled. I guess there's a lot I still have to learn." She resisted the urge to glance at Riddle as she said this, but she noticed that his quill paused momentarily before resuming correcting.

"Well," Oraia yawned, "it's getting late. I suppose I'd better head off to bed."

"Me too," Cecily agreed. "You coming, Hermione?"

"I just need to finish correcting Ri – Tom's essay, and then I'll be right there," Hermione promised.

The two girls waved goodnight and then disappeared up the staircase, and Hermione settled back into her side of the sofa to continue her corrections.

There was a comfortable silence broken only by the scratches of their quills, and then Hermione spoke quietly. "Have you ever dated anyone, Riddle?"

He smiled slightly, almost mocking. "Of course not. I would rather spend my time on more useful things."

"Like making Horcruxes?" Hermione asked dryly, and Riddle stiffened. "Look, Riddle, dating's important too. You never know when you'll meet whoever you're eventually going to marry."

"And why would I marry?" he asked disdainfully, scratching out another line and scribbling a note beside it. "Marriage takes away all freedom one might have."

"That's not true," Hermione argued. "It takes away some freedom, yes, but when you're deeply in love with someone, you'll find you don't care."

"You sound as if you have experience with this sort of thing," he scoffed.

"Well, I do, as a matter of fact," she said quietly. "Remember my fiancée? That was real."

"Who was he?"

"Ron Weas… Ron Wesonby."

Riddle frowned. "I don't recognize that name."

"That's because he's a Muggle," she said softly, knowing as soon as she said it that he wouldn't like it, and sure enough, he sneered. "A Muggle? Really, Granger? I expected more of you."

"Muggles are just as capable as anyone else at loving," she snapped. "Just because they don't have magic powers, it doesn't make them inferior, Riddle."

"I believe that is precisely what makes them inferior."

"How can you say that? Muggles are people too, only less privileged!"

"Of course you would say that, being a Mudblood," he bit out. Hermione's eyes flashed, and Riddle continued, "It's just facts, Granger. We are the ones born with magic. We can do things they can't. We are more powerful than them. Therefore, they are inferior."

"You only say that because of who your father was," Hermione said sharply, which was a mistake.

Riddle's eyes flashed red and his voice grew dangerously low as he regarded her. "How dare you talk about my father! You have no idea!" he hissed, and his voice almost sounded like a snake's, and it shook in his cold fury. "You have no idea who he was, and what he did. My _filthy Muggle father_ is the reason why I grew up in an _orphanage,_ the reason why I was neglected by the Wizarding World for _eleven years!_ He is the reason why my mother _died._ And she _named_ me after him! _You have no right."_

He stalked out of the common room, leaving a frozen Hermione behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, although I belong to Harry Potter. Just kidding. Mostly.

Tom frowned to himself as he walked down the empty corridor to the Great Hall for lunch, his eyes narrowed in thought. He hadn't revealed his worry to her, of course, but Granger knew far too much about him for his comfort. She knew that he had a Horcrux (how? could she somehow sense the Dark magic in it?), she knew he was a half-blood, which he hadn't revealed to anyone, even his closest, and she knew, furthermore, that he loathed his father, even before he had lashed out at her (which was incredibly foolish of him, as she now knew much, much more than she had).

He needed to do something about her.

Yes, she was powerful, and yes, she was integrated into his "friend" group (although he didn't know whether or not she knew that they were simply his followers, and not his friends even in the slightest), and yes, although he wouldn't admit it to anyone except himself, he did enjoy their verbal spars, as she was the only one who could keep up with him…

She knew too much. And therefore, she was a threat.

Tom decided to do something about it that afternoon. And so, when he spotted her in the Great Hall, he headed straight for her, walking right past his usual seat. It took her a minute, but when she finally turned and saw him, she stiffened noticeably. "Yes?" she said coolly.

He tilted his head toward the double doors of the entrance, and she seemed to understand that, at least, because she huffed irritably and got out of her seat, following him to the entrance. He nodded to himself slightly. It seemed that her natural curiosity would overcome whatever misgivings she had about a situation. Having completely ignored her for an entire week (it seemed petty on the outside, but it actually served to perfectly set up situations such as these), he knew that she was thinking there must be an important reason for him to deign to talk to her, and she was quite curious as to what it would be. He could feel it in how quickly she was walking beside him.

He ducked into an empty classroom and she followed close by him. Wandlessly locking the door, he regarded her with narrowed eyes. He could see the slight panic in her eyes, but she schooled her face into a defensive mask and casually dropped her hand near her wand. He almost smiled. Almost.

"Listen, Granger," he said, dropping all pretense, "either we do this the easy way, or we do it the hard way."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice quiet, controlled.

"I am going to use Legilimency on you. You will submit to having your mind read, or you will have it done by force. One choice will hurt much less than the other. Oh, and I wouldn't bother using that," he added, as her hand crept to her wand. He summoned it effortlessly, and it flew out of her pocket and into his hand. Granger glared at him with as much venom as she seemed to be able to muster, and Tom finally allowed himself a small smile as he rolled her wand back and forth in his hands.

"So," she said through gritted teeth, "either I will allow you to read my mind, or you will _make_ me allow you?"

"Precisely."

She seemed to be struggling with herself, her jaw clenched, and Tom allowed her to argue the issue with herself. It would be far better for him to do it with her consent, for her sake especially. He didn't want to risk breaking her mind, as he had done with some of his other unfortunate victims. They hadn't even remembered who they were, when he had finished with them. He smiled slightly. Of course, they had completely deserved it. No one double-crossed him without suffering the consequences.

Granger glared at him fiercely, then suddenly her eyes widened slightly and she seemed to wilt. When she again looked up at him, her gaze was full of defeat. "Fine," she murmured.

Tom regarded her thoughtfully. It seemed, in that moment, she had changed her mind at the last second. Why?

He supposed he would know soon enough.

He locked eyes with her, and entered her mind.

o-0-o

Hermione could safely say that this was not how she had expected her afternoon to go.

She soon realized that when he said he wanted to read her mind, he meant it. Flashes of her life that she hadn't thought about in ages rose unbidden to her eyes. Laughing and hugging Harry and Ron in the Gryffindor common room. Killing the troll in the bathroom in her first year. Those two Gryffindor fifth-year girls making fun of her bushy hair and buck teeth.

But other things rose in her mind as well, things that she thought about almost every day now. Every instance of when someone had called her a Mudblood. The horrible prejudice of the Ministry against Muggles and Muggleborns. Fighting against Voldemort. She felt him stiffen in surprise as he searched with particular care through her memories of him, of the Dark Lord who was both Tom Riddle and yet so not.

And then he came to her memory of Malfoy Manor.

She felt it all over again. Harry saying Voldemort's name in a moment of carelessness. Casting a Stinging Jinx at Harry's face to disguise him. Scabior's fingers grazing her face. Then they entered, and she saw Draco refusing to identify them, which had saved their lives, even if they had been found out in the end. She saw Bellatrix order Harry and Ron down to the dungeons, and then proceed to drag her to the middle of the drawing room to interrogate her.

And then the pain started.

She hadn't remembered it hurting so _much._ She felt it all over again, the excruciating pain of the Cruciatus curse, the feeling of her bones splintering even though they weren't, really, and feeling her insides being torn out of her body even though they weren't as well. She had looked perfectly whole on the outside, and would have looked perfectly whole on the inside as well, but it still hurt, felt like she was being consumed by fire and ice simultaneously. Then Bellatrix began to dig into her arm, and she felt it all over again, and she absentmindedly traced the familiar scar on her forearm: Mudblood.

The pain of it, of the combined Cruciatus and the knife, forced her to her knees, but she barely noticed. She was reliving the moment, and all that time of pushing it to the back of her mind, of not dealing with the trauma and the memories, simply because she was fighting a war and hadn't had _time_ to dwell on things that were in the past, made it all so much worse.

Riddle, who seemed to notice how much that particular memory affected her, abandoned it and began to search through her newer memories. How she had been tracking a Death Eater, had run across Yaxley, and had been sent back in time. Riddle stilled momentarily before continuing. How she had come to the conclusion that if she killed Riddle, the horrible war wouldn't have happened, and she and Harry and Ron could live a perfectly normal life.

Having gone meticulously through her entire life, through every triumph and failure and fight for her life, he finally broke contact, and she sagged to the floor.

o-0-o

Tom gazed at Hermione – after such an intimate experience, it would be virtually impossible for them to not be on a first-name basis – as she traced the scar on her forearm, trembling slightly. He had been extremely gentle with her mind, so he knew it wasn't that. He assumed it was the memory of Manor. He finally understood why she had relented. She had thought he was going to torture her.

It had been rather interesting going through her mind. She had everything organized almost like a storage cabinet, with things of different subjects arranged into sections. That was probably why she had been able to lie; her mind was so well-organized that she could pick and choose what she wanted to hide from view.

His hand rose to his nose before he had realized what he was doing, and he brought it down quickly, clenched. _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ had never mentioned the physical deformity that creating Horcruxes would inevitably cause. He had been told that his eyes flashed red when he was angry, but he had assumed that was from committing murder, not from the actual Horcrux itself. He needed to proceed with caution. Perhaps he could ask Slughorn about them. He knew he had the man wrapped around his finger.

Hermione had been far braver than he had expected. It seemed to him that she was the brains of their little trio, and had actually always been the one keeping them alive. She had far too many Slytherin traits for a Gryffindor, which he knew was what had kept Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley out of many of the predicaments and stupid situations that they would have been in. Tom had not, of course, realized that she was actually from the future, but it did explain a lot. And that she had actually decided to kill him…

Yes, it did explain much.

Hermione glared daggers up at him. "Finished?" she bit out.

"Not quite," Tom said, regarding her thoughtfully. She would be a useful ally, he was beginning to realize. Not just because of the things she already knew, things he wouldn't have to tell her, things she could tell him. No, because she was far more powerful than the average witch, far more cunning, far stronger, and far more deceptive.

Hermione Granger was interesting. But first…

"I need you to repeat a few things after me," he said, a smile playing across his face.

"All right," she said slowly, suspiciously. She stared up at him, still on her knees, and Tom found that he rather liked her in that position. Someday, everyone would be in that position, even Dumbledore, and he would laugh.

"You apologize for bringing up my father," he said, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"I apologize for bringing up your father," she muttered.

He smiled slightly. "My Lord."

Hermione snapped her head up. "I'm sorry?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"My Lord. Say it."

She swallowed, bit her lip, and then looked up at him again. Even though she looked meek, there was fire in her eyes. "I apologize for bringing up your father, _My Lord,"_ she seethed.

Tom nodded, pleased. "Good."

"Good?! Not _good,"_ she snapped. "You accept my apology."

"I accept your apology," Tom said, amused.

Hermione stared up at him, her eyes boring into his. "My Lady."

Tom didn't think he'd heard her right. "I beg your pardon?"

"My Lady," she whispered. "Say it."

He tilted his head, observing her fierce expression, her defiant posture even while she was in a kneeling position before him. He remembered who he had watched her become as he went through her mind, remembered how skilled she was at wrapping people around her finger, at getting out of situations most would have thought impossible to get out of. Her skill at fighting, and researching, and the cold look she could give people whom she considered beneath her, people like the Death Eaters and traitors like Peter Pettigrew. He remembered her compassion for people who deserved it, and her scorn for people who didn't.

How she would fight to the death for something she believed in.

Tom gazed into those dark brown eyes that could spit fire.

"My Lady," he agreed softly.

o-0-o

They sat in the Room of Requirement, drinking butterbeer that the house elves had brought them while they discussed the plans for the future of the Wizarding World.

Not that it was dramatic or anything.

The Room had supplied the perfect atmosphere for world domination. There was a warm fire crackling in the grate, the walls were covered with bookshelves, and their chairs were dark, plush, and incredibly comfortable.

All that was missing were the kneeling henchmen. But he wouldn't tell her that.

"When you say 'My Lady', you do mean rule by my side, correct?" Tom asked her.

She nodded. "But not in a romantic way or anything," she added hastily.

"I never said it would be in a romantic way," he said, annoyed. "I don't have the time or the energy for romance."

She laughed, and he glanced at her, surprised. She took a sip of the foamy drink and swallowed. "Of course, I'll need a name."

He stared. "Why would you need another name? Yours is perfectly fine."

"Says the man who goes by an anagram," she argued.

Tom's lips twitched. "You're right, I suppose."

"I can create the 'I am' part with my name," Hermione said thoughtfully, "but I've been thinking, and my name just doesn't create an anagram. Much less one like yours, that has a double meaning."

"I am exceptionally proud of it," Tom admitted with a slight smile. Then he frowned. "Although it does annoy me that no one actually uses it in the future. You-Know-Who, really? I like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named a bit better, but not much."

Hermione shrugged. "It was caused by fear, really. People were so scared of you that they didn't even want to say your name, for fear it would draw your attention on them. You had a complete reign of terror going on. Which reminds me," she added with a stern look, as he began to smile, "we will be doing that completely differently this time around."

Tom grimaced but nodded. It was quite clear that however enjoyable it would be to strike fear into the hearts of all, their quest for power would need to be much subtler.

"It's just, 'Lady Granger' sounds so boring next to 'Lord Voldemort'," she sighed, resting her elbow against her knee. "I don't believe 'Hermione Jean Granger' will spell out to anything that sounds even remotely majestic."

"Which reminds me," he said thoughtfully. "I thought you enrolled in Hogwarts to kill me. Why are you suddenly retracting that?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "Maybe there's more than one way to accomplish something."

Tom frowned. "How do you mean?"

She sighed and leaned back in the armchair. "When I was sent here by that spell, and I had a place to stay and everything, my first thought wasn't to kill you. It was to stop you from becoming who you eventually would become. But as I thought about it, the more I became convinced that a Muggleborn wouldn't be able to persuade you from the path you'd already decided, long ago, that you were going to take. I didn't see any other way. But now…"

"Now, what?"

She looked at him with a sudden fire in her eyes. "I'm absolutely _sick_ of the Ministry." Tom blinked at the sudden change of topic, but she continued, "I'm sick of their prejudices, I'm sick of the corruption, I'm sick of their cowardice that made us fight in a war when we were _children,_ instead of them fighting in it themselves. Half of the Ministry was on the, well, on your side, and the other half was being bribed to be." She gazed at him, her brown eyes flickering with long-repressed hate and heat, but it wasn't directed at him. "I want them to burn, Tom. I want the Ministry to burn, and I want to… to establish something new. Something that will ensure that everyone is treated equally, and will take care of the wizarding children that don't have a home to go to, and will make sure that the Muggleborn children go into the Wizarding World already knowing about magic, rather than some being scared and confused and others thinking it's all a joke."

Tom nodded, impressed, although he kept his face smooth. He had been correct in his original assessment. She would make the perfect Lady to rule by his side. In a non-romantic way, of course.

He fingered his ring absentmindedly, tilting his head. "What does this have to do with your change of heart, though?"

She gave him a level look. "Because I need you in order to accomplish it."

Tom smiled slowly, and she gave him a small one in return. "I still need a name, though," Hermione said suddenly. "If people hear the name 'Granger', they'll be less likely to respect it, as it means I'm a half-blood or a Muggleborn."

"What if we use a name from mythology?" he asked suddenly.

Her eyes lit up. "Brilliant! I need books on mythology," she said, and the Room complied, supplying them both with a large bookcase full of thick, dusty tomes. She set her butterbeer on a side table between their chairs and delved into a book on Norse mythology, while he examined a tome of Egyptian myths, and opened it slowly.

Five books later, he had still found nothing that would suit her, and was about to take a quick break, when he heard her inhale sharply. He turned to see her staring at a page, eyes bright in excitement. "Persephone," she whispered.

"I'm sorry?"

"Greek mythology. Salazar, this… it's perfect!"

"Enlighten me," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not as acquainted with Greek mythology as I would like to be."

"She was the goddess of spring, and used to be called Kore," Hermione said softly, still gazing down at the page. "Hades loved her and took her as his wife, to rule as Queen of the Underworld. Her mother, Demeter, missed her terribly, and so Hades promised that she could return as long as she hadn't eaten anything from his realm. But Kore had eaten the pulp from some pomegranate seeds that grew there. Hades was merciful, so he allowed her to live with her mother for six months out of the year, and then she'd be with her husband for the other six. According to the ancient Greeks, it's why we have seasons." She gazed up at him, excitement blazing in her eyes.

Tom smiled slightly. "So, does that mean you think of me as Hades?"

"Yes," she replied, without a second of hesitation, and he laughed slightly, more than he had in months.

"So, Kore, or Persephone, whichever you choose, what is the significance of the name? I will admit it has a nice sound to it."

"Well," she replied, "it sort of signifies my leaving my past life behind for a new, albeit darker one. Not that I'll be dark," she added quickly. "But it represents an abrupt change, which suits me rather well, I think. She is also a goddess, so the whole immortality thing is apt, and is the partner of Hades, who rules over the dead, and lives forever." Hermione smiled. "I think that fits well. I mean, Hades never dies and actually is ruler of the Underworld, and, well, the name Voldemort actually means 'flight from death'."

Tom smiled. "But there's something else, isn't there?"

She gave a slight nod, and when she spoke, it was more subdued. "When Kore became the ruler of the Underworld, she took a new name: Persephone. It means 'Bringer of Death'. As Queen of the Underworld, she was commanding and controlling, and actually the most feared of all of the goddesses, even more than Hera, the Queen of the gods. She had a dark beauty about her, suited to the Underworld, and she used it to control and manipulate others." She looked back up at him, and there was a slightly challenging look in her eyes. "I – I don't agree with everything, obviously, but I think it'll be useful for both of us."

He had been nodding thoughtfully, but now he frowned. "Both of us?"

"Well, if you're going to take over the world and all that, you'll need someone by your side that the masses will love, someone who will tip the scales in our favor, but who can be controlling, commanding, and persuasive when she needs to be. An Empress, of sorts. I think, with some schooling from you, I can be that person. The public is much more sympathetic to a respectable, pure-blooded couple, than one man standing alone. And, in return, I will always be by you to keep you in check, and make sure you don't go over the edge like you did in my time."

"So, Dark Lady Perse –"

"Not Dark," she interrupted hastily.

"Not Dark," he agreed. "But you will be the Lady Persephone," he added, his eyes boring into hers. "And the people will kneel."

o-0-o

Abraxas yawned loudly, and Hermione noticed Cecily glance up at him, and then back down quickly.

Interesting. She wondered if the girl had a crush. Hermione knew she herself had been far too busy lately to take notice in her friends' love lives.

"I think I'll head to bed," Abraxas said.

"You've barely written an inch of your essay," Cecily said, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, I've got tomorrow," he protested. "And anyway, Cily, I've got more important things to worry about."

"Like what?" she muttered, but Hermione saw the faint blush that crept across her cheeks at the nickname. She hid a smile.

"Like the fact that it's Hallowe'en tomorrow, and I'll need a date," he shrugged.

"Abraxas, you could ask literally any girl in the entire school, and she'd say 'yes' in a heartbeat," she said, exasperated. She glanced over at Hermione, who was sitting on the floor and leaning against Tom's legs, writing her own essay, and smirked. "Well, maybe not Hermione."

Abraxas grinned. "Well, 'Mione's busy. I was actually thinking of asking you."

She stared at him, an incredulous expression on her face. "Me?"

"Yeah, you. You want to?"

"Of course, you idiot," she laughed, rolling her eyes, and Abraxas took her hand and they ran out of the common room, presumably, Hermione supposed, to do some good old-fashioned snogging in a broom closet.

"So much for being completely infatuated with me," Hermione grinned.

"That was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen, I think," Tom muttered, and she laughed and settled herself more securely against his legs.

There was a comfortable silence, and then he spoke quietly. "How do I know you won't betray me?"

She was slightly offended, but kept it out of her voice. "Because I wouldn't ever do such a thing. And what about you? How do I know that you won't?"

"Same thing, I suppose. I don't think there is any precaution against it."

"Unless we make an Unbreakable Vow," she joked. He stilled, and she turned around to gape at him. "Are you serious?"

"I think there is too much at stake for us not to be sure of each other's loyalty," he said quietly.

She stood up and sat next to him on the couch. "Erm, all right, then. How would we do it? Don't we need a bonder?"

He thought for a moment. "We could get one of my follo – our friends to do it, and then Obliviate him or her afterward."

She pretended not to notice his slip, and nodded. "That sounds good. Who will it be?"

"Well, Cecily and Abraxas are obviously out of the question," he smiled, and she grinned. "Definitely."

"How about Oraia?"

"She's powerful," Hermione agreed. "She sounds good."

A few minutes later, after Hermione had dragged a sleepy Oraia out of her bed and down the dormitory stairs, Hermione and Tom, both standing, clasped their right hands together. Oraia held her wand over their hands, and Hermione took a deep breath.

"Will you, Tom, swear to never betray me?"

"I will."

A golden tendril of light snaked around their wrists.

"And will you listen to me when I believe you are going too far, and, if necessary, follow my advice to the best of your ability?"

"I will."

Another thin thread of light entwined with the first.

She took a deep breath. Now it was his turn.

"Will you, Hermione, promise to never betray me?"

"I will."

A third thread of light.

He tilted his head. "And will you, to the best of your ability, do whatever is necessary to take down the Ministry?"

"I will."

A fourth tendril of light followed, and the intricate golden weaving on their hands faded to leave crisscrossed marks on the back of their hands. Hermione smiled as she traced them lightly with her finger.

"Take down the Ministry? What in Salazar's name –"

"I'm sorry, Oraia," Hermione said quietly. _"Obliviate."_

The accusations faded from her gaze, to be replaced by vague confusion. She rubbed her eyes sleepily. "Did I sleepwalk?" she asked, baffled.

Hermione nodded. "Probably. Get some rest."

Oraia nodded, still confused, and stumbled up the dorm stairs.

"Now one last thing," Tom said softly. "We'll need some way to communicate with each other. The best way that I've found is a soul bond."

"Like the Dark Mark?" Hermione asked sharply. "There is no way in Merlin's name that –"

"I know," Tom said impatiently. "I know exactly what you think of it. But a soul bond doesn't have to be a Dark Mark. That was just the design that I came up with. This one will just be between the two of us."

She stared at him, then nodded slowly. "It is incredibly useful," she agreed. "Do you have a design in mind?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "I was actually thinking that you could come up with it. But not tonight," he added. "It's extremely late."

"Not tonight," she agreed, stifling a yawn. "When?"

He thought for a moment. "This Saturday. That will give you four days to come up with something, and I am quite sure that you can concoct a design in far less time."

Hermione nodded and stretched sleepily. "Well, goodnight, then."

Tom smiled. "Goodnight, Lady Persephone."

He had almost reached the common room door when he turned and said softly, "And welcome to the Underworld."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Hermione, Tom, Abraxas, or any of these other lovely characters. If I did, I'd probably feel like I was under the influence of Felix Felicis all day, every day. Oh yeah, I don't own that either.

Hermione hated him. She really did. She had no doubt he was using her for some nefarious purpose, and would discard her when he became emperor of the world or whatever his grand ambitions were.

She hated how he'd make her feel like she was the most important person in the room, actually make her feel appreciated, when all she wanted to do was punch him in his stupid, perfect teeth. And Merlin, she hated how annoyingly handsome he was. It made despising him so much harder.

She was glad they'd made the Unbreakable Vow, at least. That way he wouldn't be able to betray her. She didn't know why the idea of his betrayal bothered her so much. It certainly wouldn't be a terribly new idea. She remembered how Tom – no, not Tom, _Voldemort;_ they were somehow the same person and yet not and it confused her to some degree – she remembered how Voldemort had killed Snape, his most useful Death Eater, when he'd thought him to be the true master of the Elder Wand. No, betrayal was most definitely not a new concept to him.

Hermione shook her head and hefted her book bag more securely on her shoulder as she took the stairs down to the drafty dungeons. She'd often wondered in the days since they'd made the Vow whether or not she'd been manipulated. She probably had, she mused; he was a master manipulator. Yes, use the Mudblood to make the people love you and then discard her once they were begging to let you rule them as King.

 _Honestly._ She was probably just being paranoid.

At least she could keep him from becoming Evil Insane Dark Lord either way.

She tugged at her again-curly hair. Lucretia's charm had finally worn off, and it was now back to its normal bushy state. She rather preferred it this way – it felt like being reunited with an old friend.

She came upon the stretch of blank stone wall, muttered the password – _Black Lake_ – and the passage revealed itself. She entered the dark, elegant common room, the walls bathed in an almost ghostly green light from the Black Lake, and slumped unceremoniously onto one of the black couches near the crackling fireplace, dropping her book bag onto the floor.

"Are you all right?"

She turned to see Oraia, a heavy book open on her lap, eyebrows raised slightly. Hermione hadn't even known she was sitting there.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she grimaced. "Just Riddle being stupid."

"I don't think the words 'Tom' and 'stupid' go together," Oraia mused.

Hermione laughed slightly. "All right, then Riddle being Riddle."

 _"That_ I can understand," she grinned. Then her eyebrows drew together. "You're calling him by his surname again."

"He deserves it," Hermione huffed.

"What did he do?" Oraia asked sympathetically, moving over to sit by her friend.

"Oh, you know, just the usual," Hermione huffed irritably. "Reading my mind without my permission, talking about his grand ambitions and whatnot." _And that I'll rule by his side. What rubbish._

It had been her idea, of course, and Ri – Tom – _Riddle_ had agreed to it, but that didn't mean she believed he'd actually keep his word.

"But that's great!" Oraia exclaimed, an excited gleam in her light eyes. "Does that mean you'll be inducted?"

"Inducted?" Hermione frowned. "What do you – "

Then it hit her. Induction. Tom Riddle.

Induction ceremony. Induction to become a Death Eater.

Did it involve getting the Mark?

She suddenly felt sick.

"Probably not, then," Oraia said slowly. "It makes sense. I mean, I'm not an official member myself, but – "

"Why not?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself.

Oraia looked at her as if she'd asked why the sky was blue. "Because I'm a girl, of course. The study group is a guy thing. He's told you about it, hasn't he?"

Study group. That made sense. He'd have to keep it under wraps to hide it from Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers. Then she realized what Oraia had said. _Because I'm a girl, of course._

She had completely forgotten that this was the 1940s.

Merlin's pants. Was that why everyone was staring at her so strangely, because they hadn't expected a girl to possess her level of intelligence?

"But that's a load of rubbish," Hermione snapped. "Just because you're a girl doesn't mean you're less powerful."

The other girl stared at her, looking baffled. Hermione shook her head, and Oraia shrugged, clearly disregarding Hermione's apparent strangeness. "Well, anyway, he trusts me, at any rate, or at least seems to, because I still got Marked, see?"

She pulled up the sleeve of her left arm to show the Dark Mark, stark against her pale skin: a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth, twisting and winding over her forearm. Hermione felt nauseated.

Oraia seemed to mistake her disgust as awe because she beamed. "Yes, it's rather nice, isn't it? It's a very selective thing."

Hermione nodded numbly. Then her eyes widened as a sudden thought occurred to her.

If she was going to be Lady Persephone and keep Riddle in check, she'd have to join too.

Even the thought of getting Marked made her want to be sick, so she put her mind onto other, more pleasant things, like…

"It's the Hallowe'en feast tonight!" she realized suddenly.

Oraia grinned and nodded. "Do you have a date?"

The whole date thing must have been discontinued before her time. She couldn't remember anything involving a date during her time at Hogwarts. Of course, she was finding that she was forgetting a lot more than she wanted to of her time.

It had all been rather odd, actually. A few boys had asked her to go to the feast with them, but had all turned up a couple of days after their invitation, stammering, and had said they couldn't go with her, and that they hoped she understood.

"No," she said slowly. "Is this a big deal?"

"A little." Oraia grinned. "We could go together, if you'd like. As friends, of course," she added hastily.

Hermione smiled. "Sure, I'd like that."

Just then, Cecily and Abraxas stepped in through the passage. Her eyes widened when she saw a red mark near Cecily's ear. Was that…?

Cecily hurried over to Hermione and took both of her hands in hers, a pleading expression on her blushing face. "Hermione dear, do you have any idea how I can hide this?" She gestured to the bruise. Hermione glanced up at Abraxas, who hung back, looking slightly sheepish but still pleased with himself. She rolled her eyes and performed a Glamour Charm, and the mark vanished.

Cecily conjured a mirror and checked it, slumping in relief. "You're a darling." She mock-glared at Abraxas, who simply smirked, and she said, "Are you ready? Who are you taking?"

"Well, Oraia and I are going as friends, but I don't have a date, if that's what you mean."

Cecily frowned. "Really? I was under the impression that you and Tom – "

"Oh, honestly. Ri – Tom and I aren't anything, I can assure you." She and Riddle? The idea was absolutely absurd.

"Speak of the devil," Oraia murmured, as Ri – Tom – Ridd – oh Merlin, _Tom_ entered the common room, eyebrows rising slightly as he noticed them all congregated around her.

"Hermione, can I speak to you?"

Cecily winked at her, and Oraia raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile on her face. Hermione scoffed at them before making her way out of the common room and up to the boys' dormitories (boys were banned from the girls', but not girls from the boys'; it was terribly old-fashioned). When they'd reached the top, he leaned against the door and smirked slightly.

"I can probably guess what you're about to ask me," Hermione said dryly.

"You would be correct," Tom said, tilting his head slightly. "But it's for a different reason than you think."

"What reason?" Hermione crossed her arms and regarded him suspiciously, a thousand possibilities running through her head.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Does 'rule by my side' mean anything to you?"

"Of course," she said, annoyed, "but I don't see how this has anything to do with the Hallowe'en feast."

He sighed, apparently disappointed, and she scowled. "If you are going to be the Lady Persephone, and have a large portion of the power, a far larger portion than I am handing out to my Marked, then we need to be seen together," he said patiently. "It will make no sense otherwise."

Hermione nodded in comprehension. She put her hand gently at his elbow, and they made their way down the stairs.

"I knew it," Cecily grinned. "It's so _obvious."_

"Does that mean I'm alone again?" Oraia asked, a fake pout on her face.

Dorian Nott, Abaris Avery, and Rufus Lestrange entered the common room just then. Avery saw Oraia, smirked, then pushed Nott over to where she was sitting. Nott swallowed, turning a bright red when Oraia looked up at him expectantly. "Er, hi."

"Hi," Oraia replied, looking amused.

"I was wondering – I mean, that is – do you want to be my feast at the date? I mean, date at the feast?" Nott stammered. She gazed at him, a slight smile on her face, and he grimaced. He cleared his throat, then spoke very slowly and carefully, "I would be honored if you would accompany me to the Hallowe'en feast."

Hermione glanced over at Avery and Lestrange, who were both struggling to hold in their laughter.

Oraia smiled and stood up, taking his arm. "I would love to, Dorian. I was just enjoying watching you work for it a little."

Hermione caught Tom's eye and he smiled slightly, and for once it wasn't fake.

o-0-o

That evening, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She was dressed in a close-fitting, elegant dress that had a full skirt and a tight bodice. The green silk felt smooth against her skin, and she had procured some uncomfortable but pretty heels that matched her dress rather well.

Her hair, well, she hadn't really wanted to mess with it, so she had left it as it was, taming it with her wand so that it was curly but not bushy. Overall, she was rather happy with her appearance, and the outright Slytherin colors and elegant appearance would hopefully help to cement a certain image into other peoples' minds: she was a Muggleborn, yes, but she was also every inch a Slytherin.

She hesitated, then added a few quick sprays of perfume. It certainly wouldn't hurt.

Hermione made her way down the stairs into the common room, finding Tom, dressed in elegant dress robes, waiting for her near the entrance. He was the only one in the common room, thankfully.

"You look lovely," he said, offering her his arm. She raised an eyebrow and fitted her hand snugly into the crook of his arm, letting him take the lead. "You know you don't have to keep up the act when it's just us, Tom." He just smiled slightly.

They entered the Great Hall to see it decorated lavishly for Hallowe'en, with large carved pumpkins and all sorts of other decorations. There was candy everywhere.

"Revolting," Tom muttered under his breath, and she laughed.

They managed to get two seats near the back, near the raised platform and away from most other people, and she was glad. There were certainly some things that they needed to discuss between the two of them, with no other listening ears. However, before they'd managed to say a word, she saw Headmaster Dippet clap his hands, and the feast appeared in front of them. Candied apples, black cauldrons of large lollipops, and carrot cake filled the table, not a single thing besides sweets in sight.

Hermione sat back, nauseated. Her parents had raised her on a completely sugar-free diet, being dentists, and she couldn't stomach Sugar Quills, much less a full dinner of sweets. She glanced at Tom and saw that he wasn't eating anything, either.

She shook her head, staring at her empty plate, when she felt him nudge her slightly. She glanced up and saw that while most were indulging in their candy fantasies, a few students were staring at the two of them, slightly openmouthed. Some even got their friends' attention, who gaped as well.

"Why are they staring?" she muttered. "It's not that exciting."

Tom leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face. "Possibly because I have never gone to one of these ridiculous feasts with a date before."

Now it was her turn to stare at him. "Never?"

His mouth twisted. "What's the point? And at any rate, now they will remember you as the first person I ever went to a feast with, and in the future will always think of you as such. Thereby setting up your takeover as Lady Persephone."

It was at that moment that skeletons climbed the stage and began dancing.

To make matters worse, some truly horrible music started playing, very very loudly. She and Tom, much to Hermione's annoyance, were right next to the stage, so they could hear the skeletons' bones clacking together.

She tapped his wrist, and when he glanced up, an irritated expression on his face, she tilted her head slightly toward the entrance. He nodded, something almost like relief crossing his face, and they made their way out of the Great Hall. Glancing back, she saw that all of the other students were gazing at the entertainment in delight. Hopefully they wouldn't be missed.

They were able to hear the music all the way back in the common room, to her frustration, and she tried to tune it out.

"Let's go outside," she said suddenly.

"I abhor these feasts," he muttered, but he nodded in agreement.

They left the chilly dungeon and made their way out to the castle grounds. Hermione smiled to see that the grounds were completely deserted, and they made the long walk to the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, which loomed dark and menacing in the cold night air.

She slipped off her heels, rubbing her sore feet, and sat down, leaning her head against the tree and reveling in the glorious quiet. Then she froze. "Do you feel that?"

"It's Hallowe'en," Tom murmured, sitting next to her. "Magic is always stronger on this night."

And she could feel it, could feel it crackling around her, and it scared and electrified her at the same time. Hermione took a deep breath and reveled in the power the magic made her feel, and she felt like she could do _anything._

She glanced over at Tom to see her watching her with a curious expression on his face.

"What?"

His lips twitched upward, and her gaze slid down to them. He smirked, and she tore her eyes away, blushing furiously and fuming at herself. _He's Tom Riddle, you bloody idiot! Voldemort!_

Tom's fingers grazed hers, and she spun her gaze around to meet his. He had an infuriating half-smile on his face, and she had the feeling he knew exactly what he was doing to her, and was enjoying it.

Merlin, she hated him.

Hermione took a shuddering breath and turned her eyes up to the night sky, simply because it was somewhere that she couldn't see him, and her breath caught.

Some of the sky was obscured by trees and the castle, but what she could see of it was breathtaking. There were far more stars than she had ever seen before – she had lived in the city, of course, and at Hogwarts she was always studying the sky for school, not for pleasure – and she could make out the Milky Way stretching faint across the expanse.

She began to seek out different constellations. "Cassiopeia. Andromeda. There's Perseus, Ursa Major and Minor which are the two bears, Cygnus the swan. Oh, and there's Draco the dragon."

"What are you doing?"

She glanced over at him in surprise. "Have you never gone stargazing before?"

He just frowned.

Hermione leaned back in the grass, the back of her head on her wrist. "Well, all right. Erm, do you see those four stars that sort of make a square, and then those three that trail at the corner, sort of like a handle? That's the Little Dipper, or Ursa Minor, because it sort of resembles a bear. And then those four stars that make a larger square, then sort of form a point, just there, with another trail of stars on the other side? That's the Big Dipper, or Ursa Major. Those two are always together."

"I don't see how they resemble bears at all."

Hermione shrugged against the grass. "They do if you use your imagination. It's a bit of a stretch, but I mean, there's not going to be a mural in the night sky, you know? Okay, and then see those two trails of stars that make a cross, with the two sides extended? That's Cygnus the swan. It's a little easier to see where that constellation got its name from."

"Tell me about that one."

She saw where he was pointing, and smiled slightly. "That's Hercules."

"Hercules?"

"Another Greek myth. Well, a Roman one, actually, but it was adapted from a Greek myth."

"Explain."

She grimaced. It wasn't a question; it was a command. "Well, he was one of the heroes. The son of Zeus, actually, and a mortal named Alcmene. He was revered for his incredible strength."

She glanced over at Tom, who was frowning. "Why is he a constellation? As far as I can see, it simply looks like a man."

"I suppose the astronomers just wanted to honor his memory. He's one of the more famous myths." She smiled slightly. "There's also an animated motion picture about him that comes out in my time. 1997, I think."

Tom lay down on the grass as well, although, of course, he was annoyingly elegant about it, unlike her, and stared up at the stars. "I have never actually seen a motion picture. Did you know that?"

Hermione remembered suddenly that he was raised in an orphanage, so he'd know of Muggle things that other wizards didn't.

"I guessed," Hermione said truthfully. "Although there are some that come out in this time that you might –"

She cut off. Listening quietly, she could just make out the sound of people entering the courtyard. Grimacing, she got up and slipped her shoes back on. Her dress was still clean, thankfully, as there hadn't been rain for a little bit and the ground was dry. She tried to make out the couples that were either chattering excitedly or snogging, but it was too dark. She shook her head in exasperation, and turned to see him standing close to her, a thoughtful expression on his face as he gazed up at the stars.

"I suppose we'd better head inside," she said regretfully. His gaze fell on her, and her eyes widened slightly; his eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them. Suddenly, she felt this strange urge to tangle her fingers through his soft-looking hair and –

 _Hermione Jean Granger! Have you gone_ mad? _What in Merlin's beard are you thinking?! Tom. Riddle. I repeat: Tom Marvolo Riddle. Killed his parents and grandparents, will later kill your friends, makes Horcruxes… Have you forgotten all that?_

The thought calmed the sudden pounding in her heart. She glanced back up at Tom to see him gazing at her with a strange look on his face.

"You aren't using Legilimency on me, are you?" she asked dryly.

"You would know if I were," he said shortly. "I was just thinking. This is the only night out of the entire year that the magic will be this strong."

"And?" Her temper was short as she tried desperately to think of all of the horrible things about him, all of the things he had done and later would do. _But he's not his future self. Not yet._

"Would you like to go into the Forest?"

She stared at him. The Forest? The Forbidden Forest? The Forbidden Forest that was filled with Acromantulas and centaurs and werewolves and Merlin knew what else? And with _him?_

"I'm good, thanks," she said wryly.

"Suit yourself. However, it is reaching midnight. The magic will be extraordinarily strong then, and there's a theory that I have wanted to try out for some time."

"But the curfew," she protested. "And you're Head Boy."

His lip twisted. "You realize that I don't particularly care, don't you? That all of this is an act?"

"Of course," she snapped. "I just thought you cared more about your reputation than that."

Tom gazed at her, looking slightly displeased. "We will be out of Hogwarts in nearing half a year. I don't think it matters whether or not we break curfew at this point."

She shook her head and scowled. "Fine. But just saying, it's your fault if we get detention." She followed after him into the dark forest, a twisting sensation in her gut.

As the trees became thicker, the forest grew darker, and she soon slipped out her wand. "Lumos." To her surprise, the light appeared at her wand tip brighter than she had ever seen it, so that it made her eyes water a little.

"See?" he said. "It's almost expectant."

"You talk about it like the magic's sentient," Hermione scoffed. Tom glanced back at her, and she stilled at the seriousness in his gaze.

"How you know it isn't?" he asked quietly, and she was silent.

They came to a clearing in the forest, and a faint ray of moonlight shone through the trees. The ground looked trampled on, and the trees here loomed taller than she had seen in any part of the forest. The air practically pulsed with magic.

They walked until they'd reached the middle of the clearing, and then Tom turned to face her. "I need to know that I can trust you."

"Of course you can trust me," Hermione said irritably. "What kind of a –"

But his eyebrows raised slightly, his dark eyes boring into hers, and she nervously licked her lips.

"Can I trust you?" he asked, every word emphasized, and she pursed her mouth and thought.

Tom Riddle, who had never trusted a soul in his entire life, was asking Hermione Granger whether he could trust her, when she'd decided long ago to kill him and be done with it. When he knew that she had fought against him in her time, when he _knew_ that she was one of the ones who had helped to defeat him.

And he was asking her if he could trust her. It was absolutely absurd.

Or was it?

Tom Riddle, who reviewed her essays and took her to the feast, Tom Riddle, who bantered with her and was actually the first student she'd ever met who could intellectually challenge her, Tom Riddle, who sought knowledge desperately and wouldn't admit defeat until he'd solved whatever problem or puzzle he was working on. Tom Riddle, who was powerful and cunning and intelligent and who inspired loyalty in everyone he talked to except for Albus Dumbledore himself.

Tom Riddle whom, she realized, with a sinking feeling in her heart, she would never be able to betray, Vow or no.

Because he was the first person who truly _understood_ her in a way her friends and even her teachers had never been able to, who didn't make her feel like she was the only person in the universe like her, and she couldn't forget that, no matter how hard she tried. Because she suddenly became aware of the fact that with him as her friend, or leader, or whatever he considered himself to be to her, she finally felt like she _belonged._

She closed her eyes and swallowed as the realization washed over her. _I can't betray him._

"Yes, Tom," she whispered. "You can trust me."

He nodded, seeming to be aware of the turmoil coursing through her, and held out his hand. She took it hesitantly, and he squeezed her fingers slightly with his thumb, as if to show he understood.

"I have been researching linked magic," he finally said quietly, and her eyes widened. "Linked magic? That's incredibly advanced."

"Which is why I have been waiting to try it until tonight," Tom said. "It is only a few minutes until midnight, and I believe that will be more than enough time to explain the theory, which I have been studying extensively."

"But why _me?"_ Hermione licked her lips. "I mean, surely there's another one of your friends or followers or whatever that would be more than willing."

"But none as powerful," he said softly, and her heart leaped. She took a great, shuddering breath to calm herself. _Focus, Hermione._

"When it reaches midnight, I want you to concentrate on channeling your magic into me, and I will be doing the same to you. When it reaches midnight, it will climax, so I would like you to be prepared for that."

She nodded slowly. It sounded simple enough, in theory.

Tom took hold of her other hand and linked their fingers together. Hermione forced herself to ignore that stupid, traitorous jump in her stomach and instead closed her eyes, finding the source of her magic, rather like a beating heart. She opened the protective barrier around it, made easier by her temporarily heightened magic levels caused by the approaching time, and channeled her magic outward and through their linked hands. It was incredibly draining, but suddenly she felt the same thing coming from him, and her eyes shot open as she became aware of him, aware of his mixed emotions that he didn't show on his face, aware of him almost as if she and Tom were the same person. She let more magic flow through, and then she was gasping at the raw power of it as she felt his magic rolling through her.

Her eyes found his just as the Hogwarts bells tolled midnight, and suddenly a soft glow emitted from their joined hands, a glow that became brighter and brighter until she was almost blinded. Another light took shape near Tom, a light that grew until it became a wolf. It howled, and Tom gazed at it, looking stunned, for once not hiding behind a mask.

She became aware of a light near her as well, which slowly grew into an otter. _But that's my Patronus,_ she realized. Then to her astonishment, it morphed into a panther, which loped in front of her to investigate the wolf, which licked its mouth. She and Tom gazed at each other in astonishment. _My Patronus changed. Did it just change? What just happened?_

After midnight came and passed, the glow faded from their linked hands, but the magic coursing between them was still strong. Just to experiment, she followed the magic that came from her source into his, and found his magic spring. She realized with mixed horror and fascination that he was completely helpless, and might not even know it. She could put a lock around his magic source, and he would never be able to use magic again.

But she didn't.

She passed right by it, and came to something strange. It was rather in the shape of a beating heart, and it appeared to be _glowing,_ but it had this strange protective shield or barrier around it. She couldn't see any way around the barrier, as it appeared incredibly strong, and circled around it, trying to find a weakness. Then suddenly –

 _There._ She prodded at the tiny crack in the barrier and a huge portion of the wall broke off and vanished. She froze, terrified at what she had just done, and retreated to find Tom staring at her, his eyes wide.

"What did you _do?"_ he hissed.

"I – I'm sorry, I really don't know –"

"It's strange," he murmured. "It almost feels… right, somehow."

Just then, she heard people running through the Forest. "It's the professors," she whispered urgently. "We need to hide."

He gave her a curt nod, and they broke contact, the strange awareness of him vanishing along with it, making her feel almost empty. They fled into the more shadowy portions of the Forest, but remained close enough so that they could still see what was going on. "Here," Hermione murmured, pulling out her wand, and she performed a Disillusionment charm on both of them, so that they blended into the shadows.

Professors Dippet and Merrythought hurried into the clearing, looking disturbed. "There appears to have been a large spike in the magic used here," Merrythought said. "I don't understand where it could have come from."

"I don't believe I've seen a glow that strong for all my years here as Headmaster," Dippet wheezed, clearly out of breath. "It was absolutely incredible. I just wonder where it came from. Whoever produced it can't be too far from here."

Hermione and Tom shared a glance and moved deeper into the Forest, but the professors seemed to hear the noise and turned to where they were standing. Hermione knew that if they hadn't been Disillusioned, the professors would have seen them. Merrythought slowly approached the source of the noise, bent over with age but her eyes still sharp.

Tom stepped behind her and took hold of her wrists, leaning in so close that his lips lightly brushed her ear. Hermione froze, her heart rate speeding up, and she tilted her head slightly back unthinkingly, so that her hair grazed his jaw. He stilled, then leaned in even closer to whisper, so softly that she had to strain to hear it, "Cast your Patronus."

Hermione's eyes widened. She turned her head to stare at him, then suddenly became aware of how close they were and her lips parted. His eyes roamed down her face to meet them, and then he froze as he seemed to realize what he was doing and his gaze traveled back up to meet hers, his eyes dark with desire. He swallowed, then said softly, "It will cause a diversion."

Hermione nodded slightly, her heart pounding from far more than simply fear from being caught. She took her wand out of her pocket and murmured, "Expecto Patronum."

Instead of the otter she had grown familiar with, the panther bounded out, and she stilled. "Lead them away," she whispered, and it loped off with easy grace in the opposite direction, making itself invisible until it had gotten past Professor Merrythought.

"But look there! That's a Patronus, isn't it?" cried Dippet, and Merrythought spun around to see the now-visible panther. It stared at the two adults, then capered off deeper into the forest, Dippet and Merrythought hurrying after it.

Hermione could feel Tom relax visibly against her, and she allowed herself to slacken as well.

"That was close," she breathed.

"Too close," he agreed, letting go of her wrists and stepping back. Hermione found herself strangely disappointed, then berated herself. _You absolute idiot! Tom. Marvolo. Riddle. Get a hold on yourself._

"I need to brand you tomorrow," he said suddenly.

 _Dear Merlin._ "Not with the Mark?" she asked anxiously.

"Of course not," Tom said. "Don't be ridiculous."

She glowered. There he was, back to his usual arrogant self. She shouldn't have expected anything less.

"I have a design that I'm working out," she said slowly, "but –"

"Good. Meet me in the Room of Requirement after Alchemy. And don't be late." He turned and was gone.

Hermione gritted her teeth. The nerve of him! Who did he think he was?

_Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort, her inner voice said. Future Dark Lord. Future Dark Lord who has just let down his perfect mask for the first time and is disgusted with himself for it._

That makes sense, Hermione mused, but it still doesn't mean I have to be happy about it.

She shook her head and scowled, making her careful way out of the Forest and back to the castle.

o-0-o

She, to her great relief, found the common room again completely deserted, with everyone either being up in bed or still out celebrating. She took off her heels, rubbing her now extremely sore feet, and climbed painfully up the stairs into her dormitory, which was empty as well. She undressed and changed into her soft Slytherin pajamas, and it was only as she crawled into bed that she remembered the feeling of Tom's hands over her wrists, his lips whispering into her ear and her back pressed close to his chest. She even remembered his smell, she realized suddenly. Pipe smoke and cologne.

Hermione gave a shuddering breath and pulled her comforter up to her chin, trying to put Tom out of her mind. Honestly, she snapped at herself, show a little self-respect. He's Lord Voldemort!

 _Not yet,_ her traitorous side said slyly. _Right now he's Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle, with his soft black hair and cut jawbone and dark eyes and gentle hands –_

_Shut up,_ she hissed. _Shut up right now, or I will make you wish you'd never been born._

Then she realized she was giving death threats to herself, and grinned slightly hysterically in the dark.

_I'm going mad. First I have these strange thoughts about the most evil wizard to ever walk this earth, and now I threaten my Slytherin side with death._

_Well, he may be the most evil wizard to ever walk this earth,_ her brain said, _but he's certainly hot._

She groaned and rolled over, trying to stuff her face into the pillow. _I hate myself so much right now. Merlin's bloody beard, Hermione, get a grip! Get. A. Grip._

Sleep came slowly that night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, but I'm still gonna write like I'm running out of time.
> 
> A/N: While I was writing this, I listened to Devil Devil by MILCK. It's a very cool song and it fits their situation pretty much perfectly. :)

Tom liked control.

Or, rather, he liked what he _could_ control. Like his Death Eaters, and the teachers that fawned over him so, and his path to immortality. Magic. Power. Power wasn't just controllable; it was control. Having power, _being_ power, meant that one could control anything one came across. He possessed rather a large amount of power, being Lord Voldemort, which meant that he could control almost everything. His world was neat and orderly, with the hierarchy firmly established, just the way he liked it. The way to live forever was illuminated in front of him. He knew someday he would take over Wizarding Britain.

Enter Hermione Granger.

Suddenly, his neat, organized, controlled world was flipped upside-down. She was a Mudblood, yes, but she was also powerful. She wasn't a pureblood, but she was a Slytherin, and her filthy blood didn't stand in the way of her cunning. She was female, but she was just as powerful as him. She utterly destroyed the hierarchy, and just like that, this strange, time-traveling girl with the bushy hair and the flashing brown eyes had wrested away from him what dominance he possessed, and had put herself on a level with _him._

Tom couldn't control her, and he didn't like what he couldn't control.

No matter that she would rule by his side, or whatever rubbish he had told her. He would shape her into Lady Persephone, but would never truly let her have a portion of the power. A Mudblood, share the throne with Lord Voldemort? That would never do.

She could be molded, however. She was like clay in his hands, delightfully shapeable into the image he had procured in his mind. Ambitious, intelligent, she was both of those already. But he could twist her bookishness into intellectuality, her charm into charisma. She would be revered by the people, and feared by her enemies. He could, with patience, tip her appallingly virtuous moral compass over the side, so that she would be ruthless and merciless. He could see it already, in the way she acted, that all of those traits were lying hidden beneath the surface. He just needed to coax them out.

He would transform her into the Lady, and the people would worship her. It would be easy from there.

The only hindrance was her perception of him. She was, of course, the only person he had met so far that hadn't taken an immediate liking to him. He rather suspected that she hated him. It made sense, naturally, as she had fought against him in the war of her time, but that needed to change. He trusted her, knew she would never willingly betray him, but she needed to trust him.

He doubted it would be hard. He could, when he wished it, be very persuasive.

o-0-o

"No."

"Please?"

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, 'Mione. It's just today. Look at the sky! It's such a beautiful day, and you want to waste it _reading?_ I mean, I get it, but look at the _sky_."

"No. Especially not for Quidditch."

Abraxas frowned. "I'll be playing today."

"That's nice," Hermione said, not looking up from her book.

"But it's Slytherin against Hufflepuff! It'll be a guaranteed win."

"Not necessarily," she said. "Hufflepuffs are hard workers. Those nights where it's raining and you guys aren't practicing? They are. They could beat you."

Abraxas put a hand to his chest in mock horror. "You insult my pride."

"No," she said smoothly. "I insult your work ethic. And I'm not going to go out into the cold, no matter _how_ clear the sky is, to watch a Quidditch match. Why don't you take Cecily?"

"She's in detention," he said.

Hermione finally looked up, exasperated. "What on earth for?"

Abraxas smiled proudly. "For hexing Weasley and Adams. They insulted her or something."

Hermione shook her head. "Honestly. I think the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor is absolutely absurd."

He shrugged as he sat next to her, spooning some eggs onto his plate. "It's Hogwarts. All of it is absurd."

Hermione laughed, and she noticed out of the corner of her eye that he looked rather pleased with himself.

She sat up abruptly, her eyes widening. "I told Tom I'd meet him in the library! I completely forgot." She hastily shoved her book in her book bag and grabbed a piece of toast.

"For what?" Abraxas winked.

Hermione blushed crimson and scowled at him. "It's not like that, you dunderhead. It's a study meeting."

"Oh, a _study_ meeting," Abraxas said, nodding. "Right. Well, let me know how the _study meeting_ goes."

"Git," she snapped as she got out of her seat, and he laughed.

She flounced out of the Great Hall and into the corridor, taking quick bites out of her toast. After ducking into the lavatory to wash her hands, she arrived at the library exactly two minutes late.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and made her way to the back, where she saw him sitting in her chair again, reading a book on transfigurational theory.

"Hi."

He looked up and gave her a short nod, setting the book down on the table. "Are you ready?"

"Here?" Hermione nervously looked around the not-so-empty library.

"No," he said, standing up. "I have a special place in mind."

She frowned but followed him out of the library and into what would later be Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and watched, fascinated, as he whispered Parseltongue to the tiny snake on one of the faucets. She hadn't gone down to the Chamber of Secrets when Harry, Ron, and Lockhart had, as she'd been Petrified at the time, and when she went down with Ron to destroy the Horcrux, his Parseltongue was mediocre at best. It was quite different hearing an imitation and the real thing.

The sinks separated, and the opening to the Chamber revealed itself, looking much more pristine than it had in her time. When she'd been at Hogwarts, it was moldy and slimy, having fallen into disrepair, but here it was wonderfully clean. Thank Merlin, her robes would remain spotless.

Then she realized something. "The basilisk – it'll be down there, won't it?"

"Yes," Tom said, "but it won't come until it is called."

Hermione swallowed and nodded. Then she blinked. The slide that had been there before had transformed itself into stairs that led down into darkness. Tom, seeing her perplexed look, said simply, "We're Slytherins. Salazar Slytherin was preferential."

She nodded in understanding. She took a deep breath, trying to quell the nerves in her stomach. He held out his hand, and she took it, and they descended down the dark staircase, wand tips lit.

o-0-o

It was wonderfully clean. No rat skulls. No basilisk skin. No water or slime. Just stone, wonderful, dry stone, and echoes. Slytherin's Chamber, when it was immaculate, was really quite magnificent.

If one forgot the fact that there was a gigantic basilisk hiding somewhere in it, waiting for its next chance to purge the school of Muggleborns.

Hermione didn't forget. And so when Tom said, "I would advise you to avert your eyes," she did so readily.

She heard it long before he started whispering to it in Parseltongue. She kept her eyes trained steadily on the floor even as she saw its immense shadow loom over them, and heard its low hissing noise, and Tom hissing back. She shuddered.

"I have ordered her not to harm you," he said finally, as she heard it slither away, and she finally looked up cautiously at his light touch on her lower arm. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and smiled tremulously.

"You seem to have a bad experience with basilisks," Tom frowned.

"I was Petrified by it in my second year," Hermione said. "I suppose that was a memory you didn't see."

"I didn't see much of your early years. You mostly showed me things that had a strong effect on you. You may not even have remembered it fully."

"I was in a magic-induced coma," she shrugged. "There may not have been anything to see; I wasn't even conscious."

He inclined his head slightly. "Do you have the design?"

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded, trying to fight off the nerves growing in her stomach. She had never received a soul bond before, much less executed one. It was simple in theory, but theory and practice were two very different things.

She pulled out the piece of paper on which she had sketched the design while researching in the library. It was relatively simple; a snake biting its tail, with two crossed arrows going through the circle made by the snake.

He nodded his approval. "Explain."

Hermione didn't know why she was so anxious to please him – it was rather ridiculous, really, and she couldn't shake it off – but pushed those feelings aside and cleared her throat. "Well, the snake, as you probably know, since you used it in…in your Dark Mark, represents immortality and rebirth. I used it because of the new direction my life is taking, and because…because of your Horcrux. Which I will get to later."

"I am aware that you don't approve," Tom said, sounding amused, "but I don't believe that is why we are here."

"No," she sighed, "it isn't. I just had an idea that I've been researching. But anyway. These two arrows are crossed, which represents an alliance." She licked her lips nervously, unable to read his face. "I thought it fit."

He stared at it a moment longer, then nodded slightly. "Where do you think it should go?"

She grimaced. "I know the Death Eaters – I've also been researching that, as I have another idea, but anyway – I know the Death Eaters have the Dark Mark branded on their left forearm, but I thought that seemed a bit obvious. It's excellent for revealing one's loyalties, but what if one of them gets caught? It'll be quite obvious who they're loyal to." She hurried on before he could comment on her critique. "Like I said, it's brilliant for them, but this one'll be just for us. I was thinking we should do it somewhere more hidden."

Tom blinked, then sighed. "Talk less, smile more. That will be our first lesson."

Hermione reddened, nodding slowly. "All right."

"But," he continued, "the design is quite good. Tell me in five words or less where you would like it to go."

Hermione's lips twitched and she put a finger to the soft area just below her neck.

He nodded, looking thoughtful. "I believe that will be covered up by our robes for most of the time. Good. Would you like to go first?"

"You go, Tom. You've done it before."

He nodded again. "I will at least explain to you how it works first. All you have to do is picture the image in your head. Then, you bring that image to the forefront of your mind and project it through your wand and onto the skin of the person you are branding. Will you…?"

"Oh. Yes." Hermione loosened her tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of her white shirt, and he put the tip of his wand just below her neck.

"Are you ready, Hermione?" he asked, looking her in the eyes. She nodded quickly.

He closed his eyes, pressed the wand more firmly onto her skin, and suddenly she felt a burning sensation there, the pain so immense that it took all of her willpower to not cry out. She clenched her teeth together, feeling like it would never end, like it would last forever, because surely this was worse than the Cruciatus, and it felt like she was being submerged in fire, she was being burned alive –

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and she raised a wondering hand to touch her tender skin, and the black snake that circled, ever so slowly, around the two crossed arrows.

She gave a short, amazed laugh, and stared up at Tom in astonishment. "That's it?"

He smiled slightly. "Well, now you need to brand me."

Hermione frowned, then nodded, her left hand still touching the soul bond that was branded on her red skin, and with her other hand she slid her wand out of a pocket in her robes. The area under Tom's neck and above his chest – called the sternum, she remembered suddenly – was now bare as well, and she put the tip of her wand to it, her hand trembling slightly. She willed her hand to still and pictured her design, imagining the picture going from her head and through her wand, and suddenly he tensed almost imperceptibly, and after a moment it was all over. Her snake circled lazily over the two crossed arrows, and she smiled.

 _Can you hear me?_

She jumped and whirled around, then turned back to Tom to see him smiling, looking amused. He must have used the soul bond, she realized suddenly.

Hermione took a deep breath, then thought, _yes,_ and tried sending it through her mark. His eyebrows rose slightly, and she smiled, triumphant. _So this is what it's like._

 _Yes. Although we will still need to talk in public, of course._

_Obviously. This is nice, though. It feels very private._

_We can talk about our plans for world domination with these, if necessary._

She grinned. He was so dramatic sometimes.

 _They are also quite good for long-distance communications,_ he continued. _And, using these, we can Apparate to each other when we need to._

_Really? Why don't more people use them, then?_

He smiled. _They're considered Dark by many. Of course, no magic is truly Dark. Intent is what makes the magic Dark, not the magic itself._

 _That makes sense,_ she mused.

_That's one thing we'll cover in our lessons, when we shape you into Lady Persephone._

She smiled slowly. _I can hardly wait._

o-0-o

Their robes effectively covered up their soul bond, which she'd nicknamed the Taint, and no one learned their secret. She was glad, because it reminded her far too much of the Dark Mark for her comfort, and she didn't want any imagined judgement.

But she didn't tell him, didn't tell anyone, that late at night, when the curtains were drawn and she was alone, she lay in bed tracing the bond, wondering what Harry and Ron would think if they learned that she'd become friends with – dear Merlin, been _branded_ by – Tom Riddle, and willingly, wondering if they would consider it a betrayal.

She was forgetting their faces. Slowly but surely, they were fading from her mind, and she couldn't recall Harry's grin and Ron's laughing blue eyes. Sometimes when she strained her memory, she could recall various features of their faces, but she knew that she had already changed things far too much for things to be the same in the future. She had created a time paradox, and her past didn't exist anymore.

She wondered if in the future she would create, she and the boys would become friends.

She wondered if she would eventually forget them entirely.

No! She mustn't think that. She wouldn't forget them; they were Harry and Ron. _Her_ Harry and Ron.

Her Harry and Ron that she would never see again.

She cried herself to sleep that night.

o-0-o

The next morning, she yawned and rubbed at her cheeks, stiff from dried tears, sniffed once, and then opened the curtains. She was about to get out of bed when she heard a tapping noise. A small, black owl sat on her windowsill, rapping at the glass. Hermione frowned and opened the window, and to her surprise saw that the owl had a letter tied to its foot. She took the letter, and flipped it over. All it said on the back was H.G.

Intrigued, she opened it slowly and slid out the piece of parchment, upon which was written in an elegant, thin hand:

_H –_

_I am aware that you will already know what this is, but I would like to invite you to join my study group. We meet in the place where everything is hidden on the fifth day of the week, at the eighth hour._

_Please reply as quickly as you can._

_\- T_

Hermione bit her lip, her heart hammering in her throat. She knew exactly what this was.

A formal invitation to join the Death Eaters.

She didn't want to, but it was necessary. She needed the other Death Eaters to trust her, and if she and Tom were going to take down that horrible, disgusting, corrupt Ministry, she would need some allies at her back, however unsavory they might be.

She took a deep breath, calmed her shaking hand, and pulled out a sheaf of parchment and her quill and ink bottle. She dipped the quill, tapped it against the side of the bottle, and wrote:

_T –_

_That sounds perfectly lovely._

_\- H_

She sent the invitation with the owl, and tried to quell the sinking feeling in her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know that was rather short, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same!
> 
> So… I discovered Hamilton this weekend, as some of you may have noticed. I listened to the entire playlist in one sitting, and then made the mistake of trying to write this chapter right afterward, and it was so stuffed with song lyric references that I had to just delete it and start over. I did keep a couple of references in the finished product, and an imaginary sticker to whoever catches them! (I mean, they're not hard. If you've listened to Hamilton before, you'll probably have caught them fairly easily, as they're two of the most iconic lines in the musical.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please comment! :)
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single woman, in possession of the rights to Harry Potter, must be in want of pretty much nothing because that's the best thing that you could ask for. I am, sadly, not that woman.  
> A/N: While I was writing this chapter, I listened to New Blood by Zayde Wolf and Dangerous Game by Klergy. Both are fantastic!

Hermione was distracted for the rest of the week, unable to get her mind off of Tom's "study group". She worried about joining. She worried about getting branded with the Dark Mark (dear Merlin). She worried about what the other Death Eaters would think if a Muggleborn joined.

Mostly, though, she worried about Tom's influence over her.

Since she had met him, she had become Lady Persephone, devised a plan to take down the Ministry of Magic, become branded with a soul bond that connected her to him, something the Ministry had classified as Dark magic, and was now about to join the Death Eaters. She knew she had changed, but how much would she change even before they graduated?

She would not let him get into her head.

_I'm about to become an official Death Eater._

She hadn't realized that she'd sent it through the soul bond until she heard Tom's amused response. _How long have you been repeating that to yourself?_

 _A while,_ she responded wryly.

_You should put it out of your mind. We have Potions in a few minutes, and you need to impress Slughorn._

_Why?_

_Because today, he hands out the invitations to his Slug Club._

_Oh. And you want me to join?_

_It's imperative that you join. It will be an excellent way to impress the others._

_Because I'm going to be a Death Eater. I'm actually joining the Death Eaters. Merlin's beard._

_No,_ he responded patiently, _you're simply masquerading as a Death Eater to earn their trust._

_But I'll have to be branded, won't I?_

_Yes. But it won't be worse than the soul bond._

_Don't I have to kill an innocent in order to get the Dark Mark?_

There was a pause. _Where in Salazar's name did you hear_ that?

_Harry._

She could feel him scoff. _Of course the Chosen One would say that. No, Hermione, you don't have to kill an innocent._

_But –_

_I expect that I required that later on, when I became insane and… unsightly._

Hermione giggled. Unsightly was a word for it. Gray skin, no hair whatsoever, red eyes, and slits for nostrils. Unsightly was rather understating it. _You won't make any more Horcruxes, right? How many do you have at the moment?_

He paused. _Just the one. I plan on making more._

She swallowed. _How many more?_

_Five. Six Horcruxes total. Seven is the most powerfully magical number, so if I create six Horcruxes, my – my soul will be in seven pieces._

_Merlin's pants, Tom. That's really dark._

She could feel his smile through the soul bond. _I want to live forever._

 _But,_ she responded, desperate, _you saw in my memories that it didn't work. You ended up only living half as long as the normal wizard. You achieved exactly the opposite of what you originally intended._

_Which is why, this time around, we will do things different. A quiet rise to power, rather than a full-scale war. I won't put score by that foolish prophecy – I have always considered Divination complete nonsense, anyway; I don't know why my future self considered it so important – and I'll keep more of a rein on the Death Eaters. We'll establish a new world order in place of the Ministry._

_Tom, if you make more Horcruxes, you'll lose your humanity. You'll still turn out like you did in the future. No one will want to follow someone who looks like a snake._

_I'm sure you can figure out a spell to counteract it,_ he replied dismissively, and as worried as she was, Hermione felt euphoric at his praise and confidence in her abilities, in her.

 _I'm sure I would cry myself to sleep at night if you lost your charming good looks,_ she responded sarcastically, and she felt his laugh through the soul bond.

 _That's why I know you can come up with it,_ he teased. _The stakes are high._

Hermione grinned to herself as she made her way down to Potions. It was so easy to forget that he wasn't a normal student, just like everyone else.

o-0-o

She caught his eye as she entered the Potions classroom and moved over to sit next to him, ignoring her usual spot at the next table over. Slughorn didn't seem to mind too much, and apart from Tom's surprised look which he quickly smoothed over, she knew he wouldn't either.

_Wonder what we're doing today?_

_Amortentia, by the looks of it._

_Love potion?_ she asked scornfully. _I mean, it's incredibly complex, but hardly necessary._ She grinned. _Although, it might be interesting to find out what you smell, as you can't feel love._

 _I can feel love,_ he argued, his lips quirking up. _I just hate people._

She laughed, then struggled to hide it as Abraxas shot her a questioning look.

"All right class, settle down, settle down," Slughorn called from the front. "Now, can anyone tell me what this is?" He indicated to the cauldron up front.

Hermione's hand shot up, and she saw Tom smirk a little. _Good. Make him like you._

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Slughorn asked, looking pleased.

"It's Amortentia, sir," Hermione replied.

"Which is?"

"The most powerful love potion in the world."

"Very good, and how did you know?"

"Its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen, and the steam rising from it in characteristic spirals. It's rumored to smell differently to each person according to what attracts them. For example," she said, walking over to it and inhaling the comforting scents, "I smell... freshly mowed grass, and parchment, and –"

She blushed fiercely and returned to her seat.

"Wonderful, Miss Granger, wonderful! Take five points to Slytherin!"

 _Excellent, Hermione._ His smile turned slightly mischievous, a look she would never have thought she'd see on his face. _May I ask what the third thing you smelled was?_

_Nope. Sorry._

He raised an eyebrow at her, smirking slightly, and turned back to pay attention to Slughorn's lesson.

Hermione couldn't concentrate. She took notes dutifully, marking ingredients in her copy of _Advanced Potion Making,_ but her mind kept returning to the Amortentia at the front of the classroom.

 _Pipe smoke,_ she thought miserably. _I smelled pipe smoke, and his cologne. Merlin's beard, I'm in trouble._

"Now that you all know its effects, as well as how to make it, divide up into pairs and start brewing. You have until the end of class! Remember, it's disastrous should you get it wrong."

"I can get the ingredients for both of us. It'll save us a trip," she told him.

He nodded, and she set to gathering the ingredients from the storage at the front of the classroom. _Standard potioning water, ashwinder eggs, rose thorns, peppermint (both the flower heads and the leaves, remember), powdered moonstone, two knives, two mortars and pestles. I think that's everything._

She tried unsuccessfully to clear the intoxicating scent of the Amortentia from her mind.

After they'd divided up the ingredients, she poured twenty four fluid ounces of the potioning water into her cauldron and stocked a low flame underneath it. As she bruised six peppermint flower heads with the mortar and pestle, she tried to ignore Tom's presence next to her, albeit unsuccessfully. _Stupid. It's just because he appreciates you, that's all. You can't forget that he's Voldemort, Hermione. You can't afford to forget. Stupid, stupid._

She sprinkled the flower heads into the water, dropped twelve whole peppermint leaves into it as well, then three tablespoonfuls of the powdered moonstone, one tablespoon at a time, stirring anti-clockwise three times between each spoonful. While the potion was still moving, she sprinkled the rose thorns in as well, and the potion turned a shimmering pink. Perfect.

She stirred seven times anti-clockwise, then placed the ashwinder eggs one at a time and stirred.

"Ten minutes," Slughorn bellowed from the front. "Your potion should now be almost done. Remember, you are partnered for a reason."

 _Of course._ She had wondered about that part; this made much more sense. As steam began to rise, she took her knife. "Tom, can you…?"

He took the knife, made a tiny cut on his finger, and let a drop of blood fall into her cauldron. It shimmered, and then the light pink color changed to a mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rose from it in spirals. She inhaled its wonderful scent before she'd realized what she was doing.

"Brilliant," she grinned. "Are you ready for yours?"

He gave a short nod, and she used the knife to make a small cut on her finger as well. His potion changed to mother-of-pearl as well.

"Professor," Hermione called.

"You're finished already?" Slughorn looked impressed and hurried over to inspect their cauldrons. "Why, they're perfect! Take ten points, both of you."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione beamed.

"And," he added, leaning in conspiratorially, "I hope to see you at my dinner party tomorrow night, Miss Granger."

_Excellent work, Hermione._

"I'd consider it an honor, sir," she said truthfully.

"Wonderful, wonderful!"

As he walked away to inspect others' cauldrons, she turned to Tom. "Why didn't he acknowledge you?"

"I was invited last year," he said.

Hermione nodded in understanding and turned back to her cauldron. She gazed at the spirals of steam rising from her potion and tried not to smell pipe smoke.

o-0-o

"You mean you got an invitation?" Oraia squealed. "That's wonderful, Hermione!"

Hermione smiled. "I don't really know what to expect."

"They're rather boring, honestly," Abraxas said from where he was lounging with casual elegance over the arm of a chair. "But they're extremely exclusive, and excellent for moving up the social ladder quickly."

She frowned. "You mean he has good contacts?"

"Excellent contacts," Lucretia said. She leaned in closer, her dark eyes sparkling. "Rumor has it, he's friends with the Minister of Magic himself."

Rufus frowned. "I dunno about that, but he has contacts all over the place. The Daily Prophet, the Ministry – blimey, even Quidditch!"

"Anyone who aspires to be anyone strives to be in the Slug Club," Cecily said, picking at her nails.

"Is it just a dinner party?" Hermione asked. She knew all of this, of course, but it was interesting to see what people thought of the Slug Club at its height.

"There's a Christmas party as well," Lucretia smiled. "Excellent for dressing up, and sometimes he brings distinguished people as guests."

"Really," Hermione said, her eyebrows rising. She nodded slowly. "Can I just go in my uniform?"

Dorian shrugged from where he was sitting, one arm around Oraia. "I mean, sure. Most people do."

"I think it's pretty fun, actually," Abaris said. "Free food."

Hermione laughed. "I'll look forward to it."

o-0-o

Hermione stayed up late that night studying, once again alone in the common room, and she had just finished Professor Merrythought's essay when she heard Tom's voice through the soul bond.

_Are you ready?_

_For what?_

_Our first lesson. Meet me in the Room of Requirement._

Excellent, she thought. This will give me some leverage at the Slug Club meeting tomorrow.

She packed up her things neatly into her book bag and, after concealing it behind a statue of Slytherin, she made her way to the seventh floor. Standing at the stretch of blank wall next to the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, she thought, _I need a place to meet with Tom. Somewhere we won't be detected._

The doors revealed themselves and she stepped through to find herself in a rather large room. There was an area over to the back for dueling, with practice targets and cushions, the walls were covered by bookshelves filled with books of all kinds, including, she noticed with a slight twist in her stomach, books on the Dark Arts, and there was a large fireplace and two comfortable-looking armchairs.

It was perfect.

Aside from the Dark Arts books, of course. Nothing could induce her to open one of those.

Tom walked in a moment later and cast an appraising eye around the room. They both sat in an armchair, and Hermione soaked in the warmth that the fire provided. They had already had their first snow, and the castle was extremely drafty.

He smiled as he leaned back casually. "You do remember what I told you in the Chamber, right?"

"Talk less, smile more. Which is more important than I think, I'm sure."

He nodded. "If you want to learn anything from a conversation, it's important that you're not always rushing in to prove your point. Listen. Soak in what everyone else is saying, as well as what they're not saying."

Hermione nodded slowly. "That makes sense. 'Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than speak out and remove all doubt.'"

Tom smiled. "Precisely. Staying silent and letting everyone else talk will allow you to piece information together, sometimes vital information. When you do need to talk, ask questions in order to gain more information from the speakers." He thought for a moment. "Think of it this way. When you speak, you are repeating information you already know, but when you listen, you gain information you don't know."

"Okay," she said slowly. "So…"

Tom gave her a half-smile. "Practice at the dinner party tomorrow. Charm Slughorn. Say only what is necessary, and I guarantee that you will gain respect."

Hermione tilted her head and leaned back in the chair. "I can do that. This will also help me as Lady Persephone, right?"

He nodded slightly. Hermione thought for a moment. "Is there anything in particular you'd like me to wheedle out of him? Slughorn, I mean."

Tom's dark eyes glinted slightly in the light of the fire. "Ask him what he thinks about wizarding discrimination. Not in that way, of course, but see what he thinks about the opportunities for purebloods versus the ones for half-bloods and Mud – Muggleborns."

She smiled slowly. "Consider it done."

o-0-o

Hermione took a deep breath, smoothing out her hair and straightening her Slytherin tie, before entering Slughorn's office. She found Tom, Abaris, Rufus, Dorian, Oraia, Cecily, and Lucretia all sitting around a large circular table, as well as many other faces she didn't know. Slughorn sat at the head, and he beamed when he saw her.

"Welcome, Miss Granger, come in, come in!"

Hermione took an empty seat between Tom and a boy with bright red hair that she didn't know, but suspected was a Weasley. Slughorn waved his hand and a plate of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding materialized in front of her. Her stomach growled impatiently, and seeing that everyone was already half-way done with theirs, she dug in hungrily.

It was absolutely delicious, and she enjoyed every minute of it.

"Miss Granger?"

She looked up to see everyone staring at her impatiently. "I'm sorry?"

 _He asked you what your blood status is,_ Tom told her, sounding amused. _Say pureblood._

"I'm a pureblood, sir." Several heads nodded approvingly. If her friends were surprised by her lie, they didn't show it.

"Fascinating. Are you, by any chance, related to potioneer Hector Dagworth-Granger?"

"I am, sir," she replied truthfully. She had researched her ancestry extensively and found that she was indeed related to him, albeit distantly.

"Well, that explains it!" Slughorn said genially. "I haven't seen potions as perfect as yours in all my time at Hogwarts, except for Tom here!"

Hermione smiled. "All thanks to your teaching. How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts, sir?"

"Thirteen years," he beamed. "Been teaching here since 1931."

Hermione nodded, and as Slughorn turned his attention to Rufus, she felt the familiar pull of the soul bond.

_That was very well done._

_Thanks,_ she beamed. _I'm sure you're better._

_Don't be humble; it doesn't suit you. And I have just had more practice. For your first time, that was very well done._

She smiled and caught his approving eye.

The roast suddenly disappeared, to be replaced with a large bowl of ice cream. She'd attacked the roast with a vengeance, so there thankfully hadn't been much food left on her plate, and she ate the ice cream slowly, savoring it. She smiled. Strawberry. That had always been her favorite. She even used the scent in her shampoo.

"What do your parents do, Miss Granger?"

Perfect. _Think, Hermione, think._ "My mother is a Herbologist, and my father works for the Ministry."

"It seems everyone works for the Ministry nowadays. One either works for the Ministry, or he teaches at Hogwarts. Of course, there are other alternatives, but those seem to be the most prevalent," Slughorn sighed.

"What do you think about the job opportunities, sir?" Hermione asked carefully.

"Pitiful, pitiful," he said, shaking his head. "Especially for Muggleborns. Why, they can hardly get jobs at all!"

_Good, now introduce the idea slowly._

"Do you suppose, sir, that this is a good thing?"

Slughorn looked surprised. "A good thing? Heavens, no! They may not be as powerful, but they're still a part of our society."

 _We can work with this,_ Tom said through the soul bond. _He might be a useful ally, with the many contacts that he has._

 _Yes,_ she replied, _as long as someone doesn't mess it up –_

"Why should Mudbloods deserve to get jobs?" Macnair spat. "They're filth."

Hermione bristled, and Tom laid a cautionary hand on her arm.

"I will not have that word used in my office, my boy," Slughorn said gruffly. "And secondly, as I said, _Muggleborns_ make up a large part of our wizarding society, and deserve to be treated as such. You mustn't think I'm prejudiced."

"What jobs would you have Muggleborns take, sir?" Tom asked.

Slughorn looked relieved at Tom's question. "They'd make good teachers, I believe. Hogwarts has always been a bit discriminatory in that regard, always hiring purebloods. I think half-bloods and Muggleborns would make excellent professors."

There were mixed reactions around the table, with some reacting strongly and others nodding approvingly.

Slughorn looked at his watch and let out a yelp of surprise. "Merlin's beard, you all need to be leaving. I wouldn't want you all to be out after curfew."

There was a scraping of chairs as everyone got up to leave. She turned toward Tom to say something, and his eyebrows rose slightly.

"You have a bit of – " he began.

"Of what?" she frowned.

He smirked slightly. "Here." He tilted up her chin and brushed at her bottom lip with his thumb, and she inhaled sharply. After he took his hand away, she saw a little strawberry ice cream on his thumb before he rubbed it off with a clean napkin on the table.

"Thanks," she said, swallowing.

"No problem," Tom said, looking amused.

"Was that there the entire time?" Her cheeks reddened.

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and she whirled around to see Slughorn, carrying a box of crystallized pineapple. "It's nearly curfew, Tom, Miss Granger. I suggest you hurry back to your dormitories."

"Yes sir," Hermione said, blushing even more.

Great. So she'd had ice cream on her lip, and now Slughorn had seen the entire exchange between her and Tom.

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

"We'll be on our way, Professor," Tom said, and he escorted her out the door. They stood in front of Slughorn's office for a moment, Hermione feeling rather awkward and having no idea what Tom was thinking.

"Well, good night, then," she said uncertainly. He nodded. They stared at each other for a moment longer, then he brushed past her to go to the Head Boy dormitory, his scent lingering before fading entirely. She gazed after him, then turned and went in the opposite direction.

As Hermione descended the stairs to the dungeons, she mused over the Slug Club meeting. It had all gone rather well, but she would have preferred Macnair to have not made that horrible comment about Muggleborns. She had been successful in seeing Slughorn's stance on blood prejudice, and the food had all been rather delicious. She thought about how she and Tom would take over the Ministry. She thought about how she would become Lady Persephone.

Mostly she thought about pipe smoke and cologne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have a playlist on Spotify for dark Tomione. Here's the URL: open.spotify.com/playlist/2aIl1RWCY0PFHcxwGbkpbA  
> Hope you enjoy :)  
> Thanks for reading, and don't forget to comment!
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: "A mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone if it is to keep its edge." Alas, the Harry Potter books do not belong to me. (I'm kind of stretching it at this point, but you know what, whatever.)  
> A/N: I guess this is going to become a regular thing. Song recommendations, I mean. For this chapter, I listened to Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Lorde and Whatever It Takes by Imagine Dragons.

The dreaded day finally came.

Hermione was hardly able to focus that Thursday. She would begin to take neat, detailed notes as always, then stare into space for the rest of the lesson. She hid in a stall in a girls' lavatory between classes, trying to calm her breathing. She found herself more often than not rubbing the smooth, unblemished skin of her left forearm, because after that day, it would never be pure again.

She gave up taking notes in Transfiguration when her hand was shaking so badly that her quill left long, scraggly lines on her parchment rather than her usual neat handwriting. She overheard her friends remark to each other that she looked a bit paler than normal, and was she alright, and did they think she needed to visit the nurse?

Hermione ignored them. This was something that she needed to face on her own.

 _And besides,_ she told herself firmly, _it's for the greater good._

After her classes ended, and everyone else was either outside enjoying the snow or eating dinner in the Great Hall, she sat on the floor next to the fire in the empty common room, her thumb rubbing over and over across the place where the Dark Mark would soon be branded onto her skin.

The Hogwarts bells tolled seven-thirty. Hermione stared into the fire, her heart beating far too fast, and took several deep, calming breaths. "It's going to be fine, Hermione. Fine. Completely, totally fine. Sure, you lost your childhood fighting against the very group you're about to join, but…"

Hermione learned that she wasn't very good at giving herself pep talks.

When seven-forty hit, she got up slowly, straightened out her uniform and used her wand to smooth out the almost-nonexistent wrinkles, adjusted her tie, and smoothed out her hair. After conjuring a mirror to check her teeth, and ensuring that they were as clean as ever, she took a deep breath, clenched her jaw, and made her way out of the common room.

Twenty minutes later, she stood in front of the stretch of wall that led to the Room of Requirement, her heart filled with new resolve. _I need a place to meet with the Death Eaters. Somewhere we won't be detected._ The doors revealed themselves just as the bells struck eight, and she stepped inside.

It was a relatively small room. A long table stretched out in the middle, chairs filled with people she had no interest in looking at, and bookshelves covered the walls. A large fire crackled at the back.

"Welcome, Hermione," she heard Tom say, and she turned to see his smile. "We saved you a seat."

" _This_ is the new member?" one of them sneered, a boy she recognized as Macnair from the dinner party. "A _girl?_ "

"Shut up," one of them hissed at him, but Tom had already turned his gaze toward him, his dark eyes flashing.

"Is this a problem?"

Macnair stared at him insolently, then dropped his gaze. "No, my Lord."

"Good. Have a seat, Hermione."

Hermione tilted her head, her eyes boring down on Macnair's. So she was in 1944, a time when women and Muggleborns were discriminated against, and she was both. She gazed down at him, her eyes hard. _I'll put him in his place._

The thought came so suddenly that she hadn't even realized it was there before it had vanished, but her eyes swept the table to meet Tom's. She smiled slightly. "Maybe I could show them why I received your invitation."

He smiled, a cold, cruel smile, and she shivered.

"Macnair, stand up," he ordered. Macnair frowned, his eyes flickering between Hermione and Tom, but he did so.

"How about a duel?" Tom suggested, smirking slightly. "Name the conditions."

She saw Abraxas grin and lean back in his chair.

"Nothing Unforgiveable," Hermione said. "And proper dueling courtesy."

Tom nodded his agreement, his dark eyes watching her thoughtfully. Macnair stepped out into the empty area between the table and the wall so that he stood in front of Hermione. He towered over her.

They held their wands in standard beginning position and bowed to each other, their eyes never leaving each other's faces. The other Death Eaters were watching with mingled interest and excitement.

"I'll crush you," Macnair taunted.

"We'll see," Hermione said coolly.

They walked away from each other a few paces, then spun around, their wands held at the ready.

"Begin."

Before Macnair could say anything, Hermione sent a nonverbal Stupefy toward him so powerful that he flew across the room, hitting the wall with a sickening crack and slumping to the floor. The room glowed red with the strength of the spell for a moment then faded, and the Death Eater who had warned Macnair earlier rushed out of his chair to check on him.

"I think his back's broken," he said in awe.

Hermione swallowed.

Tom didn't look even remotely surprised. "Put some snow on his robes, then take him to the hospital wing. Tell the nurse he fell out of a tree. Make sure no one sees you."

"Yes, my Lord," he said, and he picked Macnair up and hurried out of the room.

Her gaze swept over the others, who were looking up at her with a mixture of shock and fascination.

"Anyone else?" she asked, and they all turned their gazes back to the table quickly. Tom smiled at her with something akin to pride.

"Come sit," he said, indicating the seat next to him. She sat, flushing slightly.

"From now on," he said, locking eyes with each of the Death Eaters, "you defer to her as you would to me. This includes obeying her and addressing her as 'my Lady' when in private. Is that clear?"

Some looked more shocked than others, but they all nodded fervently.

"Good. Hermione, would you like to introduce yourself?"

 _I don't really have a choice,_ she thought, amused, and cleared her throat. "Well, my name is Hermione Granger. I'm a pureblood –"

"Why's your last name 'Granger' then?" Mulciber interrupted. Rufus elbowed him, and he added a hurried "my Lady".

Hermione shot him an annoyed look. "There are more pureblooded families than just the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight, Mulciber."

His eyes widened in surprise, and she continued. "As I said, _yes,_ I'm a pureblood. My father works at the Ministry and my mother is a Herbologist. Any questions?"

 _All lies,_ Tom's voice came through the soul bond.

_I thought they'd be more willing to accept me if they thought I was "pure"._

_I never said I didn't approve,_ he said, and she smiled.

"I don't really know any of you," Hermione said, "so could you introduce yourselves? We can just go around."

Abraxas was first, and he smirked. "Well, you know me already, but I suppose it won't hurt. Abraxas Malfoy."

The pale, black-haired boy next to him introduced himself as Cromwell Rosier. As Walden Macnair and his friend Marcus Dolohov were both out, they skipped right to Alphard Black, who Hermione discovered was Lucretia's twin. Then came Abaris Avery, Dorian Nott, and Rufus Lestrange, who she knew already, as well as Osmond Mulciber and Winston Carrow.

 _All purebloods,_ she realized. _Of course._

"So, my Lady," Osmond said earnestly, "could you tell us why you wanted to join our study group?"

Hermione looked to Tom, and he nodded his approval.

"Gladly."

They all leaned forward, curious, except for Tom, who regarded her with reserved interest.

She took a deep breath and smiled cheekily. "I want to take down the Ministry of Magic."

Most laughed, and Cromwell Rosier muttered, "Don't we all."

Hermione shrugged lightly. "The thing is, I have a plan that actually might work."

"I'm down," Abraxas grinned. "I'm not doing anything else this weekend."

She laughed and shook her head. "It'll take a while. It's more of a take-it-down-from-within strategy, rather than a storm-the-castle-and-take-everyone-prisoner. I want to be more subtle."

Alphard Black nodded thoughtfully. "That will take an incredible amount of planning. We'll need to research the Ministry's safety procedures, and be able to use Occlumency and resist Veritaserum."

"Resist _Veritaserum?_ " Dorian gaped. "The truth serum?"

Winston Carrow smiled. "Of course. There is an antidote to the serum, actually. Perhaps we can use the serum a little at a time, gradually adding more and more and seeing how long we can lie." His smile was suddenly wide. "Like developing a resistance to poison."

Osmond Mulciber snorted. "Of course _you_ would know about that, Winston. How many are you immune to now?"

Winston grinned. "Four."

Hermione laughed along with the rest. "You're like Mithridates."

He frowned. "Who?"

"Mithridates. He was a famous king of Pontus, and fought against the Roman Republic. He took various poisons daily in increasing amounts, and developed a resistance to quite a large number, actually, because he wanted to safeguard himself against assassins. What's ironic is that he later tried to commit suicide… by poison. He failed utterly, and had to have a slave run him through with the king's sword."

Winston looked impressed. "And here I was, thinking I was being original."

She shrugged. "I mean, it worked. 'Mithridates, he died old.'"

They all talked for a long while, providing various anecdotes as well as beginning to create a plan to take down the Ministry. Hermione remained quiet for the most part, letting them speak, and through her silence she began to learn their personalities and strengths. Then the Hogwarts bells tolled nine, and they all fell silent.

"There is one more thing we must do before we leave," Tom said. Everyone sat forward in anticipation, and Hermione had a sudden inkling of suspicion.

He conjured a crystal cup, and, taking a flask from beneath a bookshelf, he poured some of the flask's contents into it and handed it to her. Hermione peered down into the cup and saw a dark purple liquid that swirled and gave off a faint mist. "Am I supposed to drink it?"

He smiled. "Abraxas brewed it, so it is as safe as anything." She saw Abraxas sit up a little straighter. "This is the first part of your induction ceremony."

Her eyes widened, and she nodded in understanding. She braced herself, inhaled and exhaled, then drained its contents. She waited, but when nothing happened, she licked her lips. "That tasted quite good, actually. Like wine –"

She suddenly felt herself drifting. Was the room moving, or was it just her? She could still feel herself sitting in her chair, but she was also flying, floating into nothingness, into space, and darkness was all around her. She couldn't see, or even move, but it was fine, this was a rather comforting darkness, she wanted to be here forever…

She was back in Malfoy Manor. She, Harry, and Ron were all gathered in the drawing room, and she heard Narcissa order, "Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

"Wait," said Bellatrix sharply. "All except… except for the Mudblood."

Terror filled her heart. No, no, please, not again, she couldn't do it again –

"No!" Ron shouted, panicked. "You can have me, take me!"

Bellatrix hit him across the face. "If she died under questioning, I'll take you next. Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback."

Harry and Ron struggled against Greyback's grip, but they were no match for the werewolf. Once they were out of sight, Bellatrix pulled a short silver knife from under her robes and cut Hermione free of the other prisoners, dragging her into the middle of the room.

Bellatrix grinned madly. "Let's have a little chat, shall we? Girl to girl!"

Hermione could feel herself shaking, and tears rolled down her cheeks. She remembered all of it, remembered the pain, remembered the feeling of the word "Mudblood" being dug into her arm, she couldn't do it again, she couldn't, no, please –

"Crucio!" Bellatrix shouted, and she screamed.

The pain lasted forever, felt like her bones were splintering into needle-sized pieces, like she was being torn in half, and the madwoman leaned over her, a crazed gleam in her eyes. "Where did you get this sword?"

"We didn't," she sobbed. Pain wracked her body, and Bellatrix lifted the curse. Hermione lay on the floor, feeling her muscles twitch, and there was so much more to come, she wasn't done yet, she wouldn't ever be done –

"I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?"

"We found it! We found it! PLEASE!" Hermione screamed again, as the feeling of fire engulfed her body.

"You're lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You've been in my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"

Hermione screamed again, feeling like she was about to die –

"What else did you take?" Bellatrix screeched. "Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"

Hermione shook her head, but screamed as another Cruciatus took her body.

"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"

She was barely aware of herself screaming, it was another person screaming, she wanted it to end, it would never end, it was going to last forever, she couldn't get out of it, she had no wand, she was useless, the pain, the pain, the pain, it hurt, it hurt so much –

"How did you get into my vault?" Bellatrix screamed. "Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"

"We only met him tonight," she sobbed. "We've never been inside your vault… It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"

"A copy?" screeched Bellatrix. "Oh, a likely story!"

She pounced on Hermione, gripping her right forearm in a talon-like grip, and began digging into her arm with the knife. Hermione convulsed, her screams now hoarse, as she felt the point form the familiar letters, and when the madwoman finally left her to deal with the goblin, blood poured down her arm from the word "Mudblood", and it _hurt so much._

She was too weak to even react when Harry and Ron ran up the stairs. Bellatrix screeched when she saw them. "Why, it _is_ Potter! The Dark Lord will be pleased!" She had raised her hand, intending to press the Dark Mark burned onto her skin, but stopped, eyeing the two of them, her head tilted. "Actually, I'm sure he won't mind if I finish them myself, come to think of it. You've all been far too much trouble!"

"Wait," Hermione trembled. _This is different._

Ron's eyes had widened when he saw Hermione lying on the floor and he began to rush over to her, but Bellatrix was quicker. "Avada Kedavra!"

There was a flash of green light, and Ron slumped to the floor, the light leaving his blue eyes, and Hermione screamed in agony, no, no, this wasn't real, it couldn't be, no, no, Ron, _Ron!_

Bellatrix cackled, and Hermione was suddenly aware of Harry's sobs. He summoned Ron's wand to him, and he and Bellatrix began to send spells at each other, and Hermione screamed for him to stop, she couldn't lose him too, and then there was another flash of green light, and Harry lay on the ground, unmoving.

Hermione's world rocked, and she found she was too shocked to cry anymore. She was shaking so hard that her feet were hitting the floor audibly, but as Bellatrix turned toward her, she found the strength to get up and grab Harry's wand.

Bellatrix looked surprised, then cackled. "Why, it'd be a pleasure, Mudblood," she said raising her wand, but Hermione cried out, "Expelliarmus!" and Bellatrix's wand came souring through the air and into her hand.

The woman's eyes widened, and for the first time she looked afraid. Tears streamed down Hermione's cheeks, and her wand was shaking so badly that she could hardly aim, but she thought of Neville's poor parents, and Sirius, and Ron, Ron, no, no, and _Harry,_ why did it have to be _Harry,_ and she found hatred in her heart, so that it was easy to say the words and see the flash of green light and see Bellatrix slump to the ground, as dead as her victims. She saw the life leave her eyes, saw Bellatrix's ungraceful fall to the floor, and then it came back to her, she had just _killed_ someone, and she wasn't even sorry, and Harry and Ron were dead, and –

The scene faded away from her, and she was back, floating in the darkness, and she welcomed its embrace. Then it all came back to her. The darkness. The cup. The Death Eater meeting.

It wasn't real.

She sobbed in relief. Her arm wasn't bleeding, she didn't hurt anymore, Harry and Ron weren't dead. Harry and Ron were _alive._ Alive, alive, alive.

She worked to calm her breathing and her trembling, and tried to sort out what had happened. The potion. She had drunk the potion as part of the initiation. Perhaps it was a potion to bring out your worst memories along with your worst nightmares, and make you fight them. She already had regular nightmares about Malfoy Manor, but to see Harry and Ron dead…

Then she realized that by their standards, she had passed. She had fought the monster, and had overcome it.

She stared ahead of her, her eyes hard, ready for what came next.

o-0-o

After the darkness faded away, she was momentarily surprised to find herself still in her seat. She felt a little sore, but she knew it was nothing compared to how she would feel after she received the Dark Mark.

Joy.

Then Hermione noticed everyone staring at her, their eyes wide.

 _What is it?_ she asked Tom.

_They saw everything, including the part about you being Muggleborn. We can do a Memory-Switching charm about that part, but I think it would be wise to leave everything else about the memory intact._

_They saw the entire memory?_ Hermione exclaimed, horrified. _Son of a motherless goat._

_I beg your pardon?_

_Later,_ she promised him, and turned back to the task at hand.

She took a deep breath and said, "Well, did I pass?"

Everyone continued to stare at her, horrified, until Abraxas cleared his throat and said, his voice slightly higher than normal, "Yes. Yes, you passed."

"Great. So, what next?"

Dorian swallowed, and Alphard said nervously, "Reading your mind. Making sure you're loyal.

She nodded, and everyone left their seats to stand at the empty area at the back of the room. Hermione knelt, and Tom stood in front of her. The Death Eaters stood in a circle around them, wands held up. Tom lifted her chin up, and he locked eyes with her and again entered her mind.

It was much different the second time around. This time, he wasn't looking through her memories, but her intentions, and as she was bound by the Vow and had no intention of betraying him anyway, it was relatively quick. It still felt like an invasion of privacy, but at least this time around he wasn't looking into her past.

He left, and she relaxed. "She's ready."

Tom looked down at her. "Stand up." She stood, and he took her left forearm, gently touching his wand to her unblemished skin.

"Do you swear to never betray this group, never reveal our secrets, and fight to achieve our goals?"

"I swear."

He exerted a little more pressure on the wand, so that it pressed into her arm, and then she felt the pain, but it was no worse than the Cruciatus, so she grit her teeth, willing her face to remain impassive, even as fire consumed her forearm and swords stabbed into her skin.

Then he released her, and she stared with mixed horror and fascination at the Dark Mark.

o-0-o

After they were all released, and Hermione had modified each of their memories so that she was a pureblood rather than a Muggleborn, she had left to go to the lavatory instead of the common room, locking herself in a stall. She slid to a sitting position and leaned her head against the wall, tracing the outline of the Dark Mark and the snake twisted around her arm.

After a few moments, she got up and left the stall and stood in front of the mirror. She looked like normal, if a little red around her eyes and a bit paler than usual. Her hair was as curly as ever. Her Slytherin robes were neat and close-fitting. She had a tiny pimple on her nose; she magicked it away. She looked like Hermione Granger.

Except for the skull and the snake, which stood out stark against her light skin.

The Dark Mark. _She had gotten the Dark Mark._

She was now an official Death Eater.

She suddenly felt bile rise in her throat, and she fled back to the stall and emptied her stomach into the toilet. She retched again and again, until her throat hurt and her eyes swam and she felt queasy, and then she leaned back against the wall and stared again at the black tattoo. She remembered the War, remembered the childhood she had lost, and the friends, and the innocence. Remembered that it was all because of the people who wore this Mark, who displayed it proudly, who sent it up in the sky over the houses of people they had killed.

And now she was wearing it, too.

She shuddered, then lowered her head into her arms and sobbed.

o-0-o

Tom felt concern.

It was a new feeling for him, concern. He had been used to always watching out for himself and only himself, and using other people as his pawns.

But he felt concern now, too, for his newest Death Eater, as he felt the strange sadness radiating through their soul bond. This was usually a time when the recruits celebrated, and became drunk with firewhisky they had smuggled in from the Leaky Cauldron, or Merlin knew what else.

But he could feel her crying.

He shook his head in disgust – at himself, mostly – and entered the separate Head Boy dormitory. _It's just because you're using her,_ he told himself. _It's only natural that you would wonder why she acts differently._

But it was more than that, he realized. He wanted to make her feel better.

He scoffed at himself and sat down onto the couch, pulling out his History of Magic essay. Really. Lord Voldemort, feeling worried about a Mudblood who was crying in the bathroom? It was completely and utterly ridiculous.

The feeling persisted.

He gave a great sigh of irritation and sent a polite message through the soul bond. _Are you alright?_ There. Now, maybe he could work on his essay in peace.

The crying stopped almost immediately, although the sadness persisted. She sniffed. _Yes, it's just… strange, you know?_

_How do you mean?_

He felt her hesitation. _Well, getting the Dark Mark. I've fought against these people for my entire life, and now I'm one of them. It's just… I don't know, I'm probably being ridiculous._

_No, it makes sense. Remember, though, these are just students. They have completely different morals from the Death Eaters you fought against._

_I know._ She sighed. _I guess just seeing it on me – the Mark, I mean – it brings back bad memories._

He grimaced. _I wouldn't have given you the potion if I had known it would bring up that particular one._

 _No, it's okay. I needed to face it sometime._ He felt her straighten up. _Besides, I don't want any preferential treatment, even if I'm the Lady and everything. I…_ She swallowed. _I'm glad I had to face it, actually. It let me get over it._

 _You have pushed those memories back for so long that you haven't been able to deal with them properly. I can help you with that, if you would like._ He didn't know what he was doing even in the slightest, or why he was doing it, but he continued anyway. _We could do this once a month, in place of lessons._

She sniffed again. _Yes, that… that sounds good._

He had packed his bags and was about to head for bed when he felt her voice again. _Tom – thank you._

He froze. She was _thanking_ him? For branding her and making her relive one of her worst memories? Merlin, he didn't understand her even in the slightest.

He shook his head. _You're welcome. Get some rest._

Tom felt her sadness dissipate some, and wondered why that satisfied him so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That was honestly a hard chapter to write. That scene was always so painful in the books, and so real in the movies, that writing it from Hermione's perspective actually hurt. I hope I did it justice.
> 
> I got the line "son of a motherless goat" from The Three Amigos. Watch it. It is one of the funniest movies of all time, except for maybe Pink Panther. Both star Steve Martin. Coincidence? Doubt it.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and don't forget to comment! I always love to hear what you guys think. :)
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. That is really sad. I wish that I could rhyme, 'cause this is pretty bad.
> 
> A/N: I recommend Message Man by Twenty One Pilots and Castle by Halsey.

Hermione yawned and stretched, trying to bury her face into her pillow. When she didn't fall back asleep, she tried to turn over but just ended up falling off of the bed. She grunted and untangled herself from her sheets, finally standing up and glaring grumpily at the faint light that was coming in from the window. It was _far_ too early for this.

She must have looked a sight, with her curly hair a tangled mess, her pajamas in complete disarray, and all of her sheets wadded up on the floor, standing there glaring bloody murder at the sun. Oraia giggled from her bed. "You don't like mornings, do you?"

Hermione hastened to check that the sleeve on her left arm was all the way down. "Hate them," she muttered. "Too bright. And cold. And early."

Oraia laughed, and Lucretia murmured something and shifted. "Let's go into the common room," Oraia whispered, and Hermione followed, still scowling.

They found Abraxas asleep on one of the couches, a textbook open on his lap. _He must have fallen asleep studying,_ Hermione thought, amused. She stared at him a moment longer, then had an idea. Smirking, she pulled out her wand and whispered, "Levicorpus."

Abraxas was lifted into the air by his ankle, and he awoke, sputtering. Oraia cast a Silencing charm before dissolving into laughter, and he glared viciously at them both, a sight made less intimidating by the fact that he was completely upside down. "Bloody awful way to wake up."

"Oh, you're fine," Hermione scoffed, lowering him down to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, adjusting his uniform and scowling at the pair of them.

"We should go down to the lake," Oraia said excitedly. "No one else is up yet, and we'll have it all to ourselves."

Hermione shrugged. "Sure, why not. I doubt I'll go back to sleep anyway."

They turned toward Abraxas, who had his arms crossed, and he sighed, running a hand through his already extremely messy white-blond hair. "Fine," he muttered. "I don't think I'll be going back to sleep either." He glared at Hermione again and she laughed, linking one arm with him and another with Oraia.

"Like I said, you're fine."

"Don't expect me not to reciprocate," he warned. "I've been in Slytherin longer than you have."

"I'll keep an eye out," she promised, but thought to herself, _and I used to be a Gryffindor and was friends with Fred and George Weasley, the legendary tricksters themselves. Honestly._ A pang of sadness struck her at the thought of Fred, but she pushed it down and they made their way out to the Black Lake.

The grounds were completely deserted, and they, to her delight, seemed to be the only ones awake. It was still slightly dark outside, and Hermione shivered in the cold morning air. The edges of the lake were iced over, and a brisk wind bit at their faces, but she reveled in the quiet and the aloneness.

They sat down at the edge of the lake, and Hermione wrapped her arms around her legs in an attempt to keep out the cold. "It really is beautiful out here."

Oraia nodded. Abraxas lay down in the grass, a relaxed expression on his face. Hermione breathed deeply, closing her eyes as she felt the biting chill of the air around the lake.

"I've always liked the cold," Abraxas said. Surprised, she turned her head to stare at him, and he shrugged. "Malfoy Manor was always drafty. I learned to like it."

She nodded and yawned as a wave of sleepiness hit her. Just then, Oraia shot up. "I completely forgot! We'll have Slug's Christmas party in a couple of weeks."

 _Oh, right._ Hermione smiled. "Are you going with anyone?"

"Dorian," Oraia beamed. "We've been going steady for a little while now, and he's just so awkward and adorable."

Hermione laughed. "What about you, Abraxas?"

He stretched, a lazy smile on his face. "Either Cecily or Lucretia, I'm not sure which. By the way, you owe me ten Galleons."

"What for?" Hermione asked, startled.

"You and Tom, of course. Don't tell me you're not together."

"Of course we're not. Don't be ridiculous."

He raised an eyebrow. "He seems to respect you, 'Mione, and he doesn't really respect anyone that's not a teacher."

She refused to let her face betray her pleasure at his words. "Respect and dating are two entirely different things. Honestly, it's like all of you are playing matchmaker or something." She stretched and lay back down in the grass, staring up at the gradually lightening sky. "Besides, two people can be friends without being interested in each other."

Oraia smirked. "I mean, you could do worse than him, just saying. He's powerful and handsome, and has taken an unusual interest in you for some reason."

Hermione shrugged uncomfortably. "We're just friends."

She saw Oraia and Abraxas share a knowing look and repressed the urge to roll her eyes. "Oh, honestly. You two are friends. Why aren't you dating?"

Oraia gave her a strange look. "Because we're dating other people, silly."

Hermione shook her head, then gave a shrug and stared at the sunrise. The other two followed suit, and they watched the sun slowly rise over the lake. She finally felt at peace and relaxed, and she allowed the tension to ease out of her muscles, which were sore from the initiation from the day before. She'd just closed her eyes and breathed in deeply when Abraxas leaned over and whispered, "He totally likes you."

She punched him in the arm, and Oraia laughed.

o-0-o

She sat down in the library, about to pull out her essay, when she saw a book being slid toward her across the table. She picked up the thick tome and read the title. " _Secrets of the Darkest Art._ " She scowled and slid it back toward Tom. "No. Absolutely not."

"I never said I wanted you to practice the magic in it," he said, sounding annoyed and pushing it back toward her. "Just read it."

Hermione glared venomously at the engraved title before stuffing it unceremoniously into her book bag. "No promises." She left the library in a huff, not noticing him smile.

For the next few days, she completely ignored the book, keeping it in her book bag but never touching it. It fairly reeked of Dark magic and she had absolutely no interest _whatsoever_ in reading it. What in Merlin's name made him think that she would be willing to? It was completely absurd.

She was just making her way to Charms class when someone bumped into her. Looking up, she saw that it was Macnair and Dolohov. "Watch where you're going, Granger," Macnair snapped.

"I didn't bump into you, you bumped into me," she argued. "Excuse me; I have to get to class."

They shared a look. "No," Macnair said slowly. "You humiliated me, in front of all of the Death Eaters. You think you can just waltz in here and act like you own the place?"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed. "And yes, actually. If you haven't forgotten, Tom said to treat me with the respect you show him."

"Well, Tom isn't here," Dolohov said, cracking his knuckles. "And we have a debt to pay."

Hermione cast a wild glance around the corridor. It was completely empty. She drew her wand. "Don't make me hurt you."

Dolohov drew his wand, and she Summoned it into her outstretched hand. He made a grab for it and missed, and his face twisted with rage. "You dirty little Mudblood!"

Macnair's eyes widened. "You're a Mudblood?"

"No, I'm a pureblood," she snapped, "and how dare you talk to me that way?"

"I can talk to you however I want," Macnair sneered. She raised her wand and was about to cast another Stupefy when he shouted, "Expelliarmus!" Both her wand and Dolohov's flew out of her hand, and her heart stopped.

"Well, well, well," Dolohov said. "Look what we have here. A filthy Mudblood, all alone in the corridor, with no wand and nowhere to run. And," he turned and saw the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. "Look at that. We just _happen_ to be next to the Room of Hidden Things. Whatever are we going to do?"

"I'll make you pay," Macnair said to her, his face depraved. "I'll make you scream, Mudblood."

Hermione tried to escape, but he grabbed her arm, his nails digging into her skin, and dragged her into the Room of Requirement. The room was dark, windowless, and there was no escape as far as she could see, void of anything she could use as a weapon. "Please," she whispered. "What do you want?"

"Nothing that you can give us," Dolohov smirked. He raised his wand and she flinched. He grinned. "Why, are you _scared?_ "

"Of course I'm not scared," she bit out. "Let me go."

"No, I don't think we will," Macnair said, he and Dolohov sharing a cruel smile. "Marcus, would you like to do the honors?"

"I'd be delighted," Dolohov grinned. She trembled.

"Crucio!"

She dropped to her knees and ground her teeth together. Bellatrix's was far worse. She could stand this. She would not give them the satisfaction, even though it felt like her insides were being ripped out –

"You're tougher than I thought, Mudblood," Dolohov smiled. "Ah well, we'll break you yet. Crucio!"

Hermione couldn't hold it in anymore. She screamed.

o-0-o

Tom knew something was wrong when her end of the soul bond switched off. He tried sending a message through, but received no indication that she'd heard it. He'd talked to their classmates, who had reported that she hadn't been seen all day. He pressed the Dark Mark on his left arm, and a few minutes later, Abraxas hurried into the library.

"Still no sign of her, my Lord."

Tom frowned. Where had she run off to? Hermione Granger wasn't the type to skip classes, much less an exam day.

"Have you talked to Oraia and Cecily?" he asked him.

Abraxas wet his lips nervously. "They haven't seen her either. I – do you think she's all right?"

Tom didn't answer, his mind working rapidly. Then he thought of the soul bond, how it had shut off abruptly, and said, "Have you searched the Room of Requirement? It blocks magic use inside from going outside of the room."

Abraxas's eyes widened. "No, my Lord. I'll check now."

Tom nodded. "I'll go with you."

About fifteen minutes later, they arrived outside of the Room. _I need to find Hermione Granger,_ he thought, and the doors revealed themselves. They hurried inside to find the Room much smaller and darker than usual. "Lumos," Abraxas whispered. His wand tip came alight, and when the light source fell upon a dark form on the ground, Tom was barely aware of the other boy's gasp of alarm.

It was Hermione, without a doubt, but he could hardly recognize her. She was covered in bruises and cuts, and her limbs twitched, which he knew was a common aftereffect of the Cruciatus curse. Barely aware of what he was doing, he picked up her limp form and left the Room of Requirement, his feet carrying him on autopilot to the hospital wing. He felt a distant roaring in his ears and he vowed, his eyes as hard as cut glass, that he would murder whoever had done this to her.

He didn't even know why. Yes, she was powerful, and yes, she was an incredibly useful pawn, but it was more than that, somehow. He just didn't know what. All he knew was that as soon as she had entered his life, something had felt different, and he strongly suspected it had had something to do with that night in the forest. He didn't know whether he liked it or not.

He was leaning more toward not.

He reached the hospital wing, a worried Abraxas in tow, and the nurse bustled over. "Oh my goodness, what happened?"

"We found her," Tom said sharply. "I suspect it has to do with her blood status."

"Oh, poor dear," she said, picking up Hermione out of Tom's arms and placing her gently on one of the beds. She hurried over to the cabinet and started pulling out several vials and healing potions.

"I got her bag," Abraxas said in a low voice. Tom startled, then cursed under his breath; he had completely forgotten the other boy was there. He took the bag out of Abraxas's hands and placed it beside her bed.

At his questioning look, Tom simply said, "It's filled with books. She will want some when she wakes up."

"Right," Abraxas said quietly. "Er, will you be all –"

"I am fine," Tom said in a hard voice. "It's Hermione you should worry about, if you are going to worry at all."

Abraxas nodded nervously. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then. Um… can you tell me when she wakes up?"

He gave a short nod, and Abraxas backed out of the hospital wing, his eyes still trained on Hermione's limp form. Tom pulled a chair over and gazed at her injuries. He would keep watch for when she would wake up, and then would learn from her who had tortured her… and whoever had done this would wish they had never been born.

They would learn what it meant to disrespect the Lady.

o-0-o

The first thing Hermione was aware of was intense pain all across her body. She groaned and tried to roll over, but that only made things worse. Then it all came back to her suddenly, and her eyes snapped open and she groped for a wand that wasn't there.

"Easy," a motherly voice said. "Take it easy, dear."

Hermione blinked and let her eyes adjust to the room and the intense sunlight. She appeared to be in the hospital wing. It was comfortably enough, but very white. The nurse was mixing up potions, and she handed one to her. Hermione sniffed it and frowned.

"Skele-Gro," the woman said briskly. "You have several broken bones, more bruises than I can count, and two fractured ribs. I'd suggest you drink it."

Hermione nodded painfully and drained the potion, holding the cup with her good hand. It tasted horrible, and burned as it went down her throat. She grimaced at the taste, but let out a gasp as she experienced what felt like a million needles stabbing into her arms.

"Mending broken bones is a nasty business," the nurse said apologetically. "It might last for a while, but when it's finished, you'll be good as new."

Hermione lay back in the bed, gritting her teeth against the pain. She shifted to get more comfortable and saw, to her immense surprise, Tom sitting in a chair next to her bed, asleep. He looked so peaceful that she didn't want to disturb him, but the nurse made a particularly loud noise while mixing potions and he woke up with a start. He seemed relieved to find her awake, but his face was soon behind a mask again.

"Hi," Hermione said, her voice scratchy. _Probably from screaming,_ she thought bitterly.

His eyes searched her injuries, seeming to take note of every bruise, every disfigurement those two brutes had so kindly left her. His eyes met hers again, and she shivered at how cold they were. He reached out, his finger lightly brushing a bruise on her cheek. Her breath hitched.

"Who did this to you?" he asked quietly. Hermione had known him long enough to detect the lining of danger in his voice.

She swallowed. If she told, would they come after her again? She bit her lip, and he seemed to be reading her mind because he cast a privacy enchantment around them.

Hermione nodded, took a deep breath, and said softly, "Macnair and Dolohov."

His eyes grew hard. "Two of mine. How… disappointing." He tilted his head, seeming to assess the situation, and she was again reminded that this was not the Tom she had gotten to know, but Tom Riddle. "Were there any others?"

She shook her head. "The others have all been nothing but respectful."

Tom gave a short nod and left the hospital wing, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts.

o-0-o

"My Lord, please…" Macnair sobbed, his fingers raking the ground so hard that his fingertips were bloody.

Tom didn't relent. "You will receive no sympathy, Macnair." He performed another nonverbal Cruciatus that left both Macnair and Dolohov screaming. He looked down on them with disgust. "I must say, I expected better."

"My Lord," Dolohov said, his voice hoarse, "she's a Mudblood. She's not who everyone says she is. Surely you –"

He broke off, screaming again, and Tom tilted his head. "Do you truly think I care?"

"I thought you hate Mudbloods and Muggles," Macnair half-sobbed, half-pleaded. "They're filth."

"Muggles are filth," Tom said quietly. "They are inferior. Blood, however, means nothing to me. Crucio."

Macnair screamed worse than ever, and his knuckles were now bloody from scraping the unrelenting stone of the Chamber.

"You will see," Tom said quietly, "I am doing to you exactly what you did to her. The only problem is," he added, smiling, "I am much more powerful than you. So, as you will notice, it will be much, much worse."

"My Lord, I beg you –" Dolohov's plea was cut off as he gave another great scream.

He gazed coldly down at them both. "You have disobeyed a direct order from me. Lord Voldemort does not tolerate defiance. Crucio."

Screams.

"On top of that," he continued quietly, "you have set our plans back weeks, perhaps months, just to satisfy your foolish desire for revenge. That's another mark against you. Crucio."

Screams.

"Thirdly," he said, his voice now harsh, "you directly attacked the Lady herself, which I consider to be as consequential as if you had attacked me. Crucio."

They screamed and sobbed, but he gazed down at them, a twisted smile on his face. They were groveling fools, the both of them, and he knew he wouldn't be done with them for a long time yet.

o-0-o

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully. Hermione mostly lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, her eyes hard as she gritted her teeth against the pain.

How dare they? She was a member of their own House, for Salazar's sake, and they should have treated her with the respect she deserved. Furthermore, they had disobeyed Tom, their leader, just because Macnair had been put in his place for a sexist comment. She clenched her jaw as another wave of pain overtook her.

It hadn't even been a fair fight. It was two against one, first of all, and then they had taken her wand so she was defenseless. It hadn't even _been_ a fight in the first place, she was beginning to realize. They had just wanted to torture her.

Well. Never again, she vowed. She was the Lady Persephone, for Merlin's sake, and she would be hanged if she _ever_ allowed anyone to treat her like that again! There would be a day when they would kneel before her. They would kneel, and she would sit on a throne.

She struggled to sit up, simply because she was tired of lying down, and stared off into space, her eyes hard. She had nearly died. It was truly lucky that Tom had found her, because if he hadn't… well, she didn't want to think about that.

She would never let them hurt her again. She wouldn't let Macnair, or Dolohov, or Bellatrix, or anyone else in this whole Merlin-forsaken earth torture her. She would be ready. Tom wanted to give her lessons in etiquette? Fine. She needed to work on her dueling? Fine. He wanted her to read a book on the Dark Arts? Bloody well fine. She would be ready, and no one would ever hurt her or humiliate her again.

She glanced over at her book bag, where _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ was lying hidden. She had disguised the cover so that none of the teachers would wonder why their model student was carrying around a book that spoke of Dark magic. Now was as good a time as any, she supposed. After all, what was it that Tom had said? Intent was what made the magic Dark, not the magic itself. It wouldn't hurt, surely.

Her mouth twisted. They would never hurt her again.

She opened the book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Welp. There goes our Golden Girl.
> 
> Please comment!
> 
> ~DarkLadySwan


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, since I'm not J.K. Rowling. In all honesty, that's probably a good thing, since I'd take so many liberties with the characters that my readers wouldn't even know what was canon anymore. Now I can do it for free! :D
> 
> A/N #2: I'd recommend Queen by Loren Gray and Confident by Demi Lovato.

Hermione healed rather quickly, but her pride was still bruised beyond repair. The attack had given her new purpose, and as soon as she was released from the hospital wing, she pushed herself harder than ever in her studies, determined to refine her skills and surpass her classmates. In addition, she spent nearly every waking minute that she wasn't in classes browsing the Restricted Section. As she was a seventh year, she had free access to it, and she made the most of her new privileges, checking out books such as _The Imperius Curse: How to Effectively Protect Yourself, Occlumency and the Mind,_ and _Animagus Transformations: Meditation Exercises to Discover Your True Form._ If the librarian suspected anything, she didn't show it, but simply stamped the library card in each book she was handed.

After curfew, Hermione also read some of the Darker books that she knew would raise questions, books that detailed brewing instructions for advanced potions, incantations for spells. She knew she could give an excuse if she was asked about them, but it was far easier to read them by wandlight when the library was closed and empty.

Of course, her increased studying took a toll on her, much as it had in her third year when she had taken the extra classes. She drank a Sleeping Draught each night before bed, but it still affected her overall appearance. She found she didn't care, though. She had a limited amount of time before the school year ended and once she graduated, she wouldn't have access to the library's seemingly endless resources.

It showed in her schoolwork, too. She was walking in the corridor one day, around a week after the attack, when she heard some of the professors talking in an empty classroom. Ducking behind a column and performing a Disillusionment charm on herself, she strained her ears to listen.

"– and my word, I've never seen a child so ambitious in all my years at Hogwarts! And I've been here a considerable time, as you might remember."

"Except, perhaps, for Tom Riddle. A pair if I've ever seen one. I'm not quite sure which is the more powerful of the two."

"I'd say Mr. Riddle, but it would be a very small margin."

"Their magical skill is quite impressive, especially for children not quite graduated. They'll go far, I'm sure of it."

"A pity the only jobs available are Hogwarts and the Ministry. Working for the school or working for the government. A right shame."

Their conversation turned to other things, and Hermione smiled. The professors' opinions on the Ministry seemed to coincide with Slughorn's. Maybe her chosen path wouldn't be as difficult as she and Tom had originally assumed. Taking care to step softly so they wouldn't hear her, she abandoned eavesdropping and made her way up to the Room of Requirement for a dueling session with Tom.

Instead of sitting in one of the armchairs, she found him browsing the books in one of the bookshelves. He nodded when he saw her. "Today we will work on wandless magic."

Wandless magic? She stared at him, astonished. "But that's incredibly advanced."

"And I know you can perform it," Tom said quietly. He walked over to her and took her wand, turning it over in his hands. "You were attacked. What was the first thing they did? They took your wand. Without a wand, almost all witches and wizards are as helpless as Muggles, with the exception of Dumbledore." His mouth twisted for a moment, then he continued, "If you can perform magic without a wand, it will guarantee that you will always be able to defend yourself."

Hermione's eyes were wide as she considered this. Not have to use a wand? How was that even possible? She'd seen teachers perform extremely simple spells wandlessly, such as closing a door, and Tom had wandlessly locked the doors to the empty classroom when he'd looked into her mind, but to perform wandless _defensive_ magic? That sounded next to impossible.

Of course, the idea of something being impossible had never deterred her before. She took a deep breath and said, "When do we begin?"

Tom smiled. "Now."

She followed him to the practice targets over in the dueling section of the room. Each one had a bright red and yellow target painted over its center, and she positioned herself so that she stood directly across from the one in the middle.

"Wizards and witches use wands because it helps to focus their magic," he said. "It is ideal for the younger ones, because it makes it far easier to perform spells that they would have had a hard time mastering otherwise. However, as we get older, we rely on our wands, to the point where we are unable to use magic without them. But wandless magic is still possible. Think about it. What is accidental magic?"

"Well," Hermione said slowly, "it's an outburst of magical energy that flares from younger witches and wizards before they're able to control it."

Tom's eyes glinted. "Control it. Do you see? Accidental magic is wandless magic. Without a wand at a young age, one can, say… make a teapot float across the room to pour tea."

"But you have to learn how to do that when you get to school," she said, the answer dawning on her. "We already know how to do things magically, but we have to learn to control it. Control it." Her gaze snapped up to see Tom's dark eyes watching her knowingly. "We're issued wands. We have to learn to do magic with them. But by using wands, the Ministry is keeping us under control. We learn to use wands, and it binds our magic to it."

Tom nodded, a hint of a smile on his aristocratic face. "In conclusion…"

"We're more powerful without them," she breathed. "How has no one noticed this before?"

His dark eyes had more than a touch of a smile now. "No one has bothered to ask. We do as we are told, or haven't you noticed? We use wands because the Ministry says we can't do magic without them. We don't practice older, more ancient magic because the Ministry says it's Dark."

"It all comes back to the Ministry," she seethed. "And in the meantime, they're letting innocent men rot in that foul prison, Azkaban, and letting hags like Umbridge do whatever they please, without anyone checking in on them." She was barely aware that she was speaking; everything was falling into place. "They order us around, dictate what is and isn't right for us without letting us decide for ourselves. They limit the number of jobs so we have to work for the government. They're pureblood supremists, and won't let Muggleborns rise any higher than a low-level job that hardly pays anything!"

She was pacing now, not noticing the trace of a smile on his face. "They refuse to see reality, even if that reality is staring them in the face, because they want to keep the public happy, but by doing that they completely ignore public safety in favor of keeping a 'peaceful' hold on everyone. They imprison people without much investigation at all, it's more of a sentence on majority of opinion, really, not on whether or not they're actually guilty, and then once those people are imprisoned, they're sent to a torture chamber in the middle of the ocean, guarded by creatures that make you relive your worst memories for the entire time you're incarcerated! _And_ half of the officials are being paid off, and the other half are just acting on their own selfish interests, all of whom are being run by a dictator who serves under no checks and balances! It's completely barbaric!"

She stared up at him, her eyes hard. "And now you tell me that we're all being brainwashed, essentially, in order to keep us from our true potential, and we're only allowed to practice Ministry-approved spells in the first place!" She shook her head, her jaw clenched, then gazed back up at him again. "What's the first step to using wandless magic?"

Did she see approval in his eyes? It must just be a trick of the light.

He positioned her so that she stood across from the target once more. Hermione, her heart already pounding from anger, tried to ignore the strange fluttery feeling in her stomach and attributed it to nerves.

"The trick to wandless magic," Tom said from behind her, "is intent. Many witches and wizards think magic is simply waving your wand and saying the right words. It is actually much more than that. When you use a spell, you intend to do something with that spell. Whether it's making a feather float or controlling someone's mind, all magic has a purpose, and you need to concentrate on that purpose when you don't have a wand that can do the hard work for you."

Hermione nodded; that made sense, in theory.

Tom rolled her wand back in forth in his hands. She was acutely aware of his presence next to her. "Now, what is this, vine and dragon heartstring, correct?" She nodded again. "What do you feel when you use it? Think on every minute detail."

She frowned. "Well, it's rather odd, really. It feels… well, there's a magical surge, of sorts, and I can almost feel it traveling out of my magic source and through the wand. And… and my hand tingles a little, especially with the more powerful spells. When it gets to the wand, it feels like there's a sort of burst of power." She looked up. "Is that because I'm channeling my magic into it?"

He nodded. "Now, think about performing a simple spell… say, the Levitation charm. Relatively straightforward. Try to feel that same burst of power, but coming through your arm rather than your wand, and attempt to levitate the practice target."

Hermione's eyes widened and she gazed at her hand. Could she really do it without her wand? She remembered the Ministry and her eyes hardened. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and opened up her magic source, like she did for every spell, and tried to send magic through her arm, reciting _Wingardium Leviosa._ Her eyes snapped open as she experienced what felt like a huge electric shock in her hand. The practice target was still on the ground.

"It might take a while. Your magic is still too heavily attached to your wand to perform well the first time. Here." He stood behind her again and raised her arm so that it was perpendicular to the practice target. She tried to calm her sudden heart palpitations and instead gazed at the target, channeling her magic, very slowly, out of her magic source and through to her hand, again thinking the incantation. To her astonishment, she saw an extremely faint light, and the target shifted.

Her eyebrows shot up and she glanced over at Tom, now standing next to her, who nodded, indicating that she should try again. The third time, she was successful and the target lifted off the floor for a moment, then crashed back down.

Hermione beamed and, emboldened by her success, she tried again and again until the spell was smooth. She tried it on another target, one that was slightly further away, and was successful, and she felt the raw power of her magic coursing through her. She grinned, feeling triumphant, and shakily wiped beads of perspiration off of her forehead.

"That was very well done," he smiled. "Practice this week. If you have an opportunity, try to perform spells wandlessly whenever possible."

She nodded, elated, and hurried out of the Room of Requirement once he'd signaled their lesson was at an end and had handed her wand back. She felt like skipping.

 _You are completely ridiculous,_ he said, sounding amused.

Hermione laughed. He could probably feel her wild happiness through the soul bond. _You told me the secret to unlimited power, and I accomplished it._ For some reason, an image of Darth Sidious cackling while he cast Force lightning popped into her head; she pushed it down.

_By the way, there's another meeting with Slughorn's fan club tonight._

She smiled. _Fan club?_

She felt his dry amusement. _It's what it feels like._

Grinning, she stepped inside the empty Slytherin common room. _I'll be there._

As it was a Saturday and everyone was either at Hogsmeade or roaming the castle, she was left alone for the rest of the day and so had ample time to attempt wandless spells. It was hard at first to not simply reach for her wand and just get the spell over with, but through seemingly endless practice – and a boatload of patience on her part – she finally got to the point where simple spells were easy. She had yet to perform difficult spells, or spells that would actually be useful were she to be kidnapped or captured, but all in all, she considered it a quite productive day.

o-0-o

The group of students sitting around Slughorn's table was quite smaller this time around. Hermione strongly suspected that he was refining his "Slug Club" members so that he could be certain they would go somewhere. This meeting, there were only half a dozen boys, including Tom. She was the only female in the room.

Slughorn sat on a comfortable-looking winged armchair, his feet resting on a velvet pouffe. One hand held a glass of wine, the other rummaged through a box of crystallized pineapple. Hermione had just closed the door when the bells tolled ten forty-five. She winced. It was much later than she'd originally thought. The meeting had already been going on for thirty minutes.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor."

"Oh, it's fine, not a problem, not a problem," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Take a seat, if you would."

It was quite a comfortable chair, she mused, sitting in an empty place next to Tom. She settled down just as Tom asked, "Sir, is it true Professor Merrythought is retiring?"

Hermione stared at him; this was the first she'd heard of any such thing. Slughorn wagged a finger at him. "Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you." He winked. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."

Tom smiled, and she noticed Abraxas, Dorian, and Abaris cast him admiring looks.

"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter – thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite –"

She grinned.

"– I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple; I have excellent contacts at the Ministry."

Tom and Hermione shared a secret smile as the others laughed. _If only he knew…_

"I don't know that politics would suit me, sir," he said finally. "I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing."

She smirked. Tom Riddle, not have the right background? What did it matter if he was a half-blood, when he was directly descended from Salazar Slytherin himself?

"Nonsense," Slughorn beamed, "couldn't be plainer you come from decent wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you'll go far, Tom; I've never been wrong about a student yet."

Hermione and Tom smiled at each other again. _We will go far,_ she thought to herself, _just not in the way you think, Professor. You can be sure of that._

The golden clock on Slughorn's desk chimed eleven; he startled. "Good gracious, is it that time already? You'd better get going or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay in by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery."

They all filed out one by one, except for Tom.

 _Are you coming?_ she asked him.

_Stay here a minute. I want to ask him something._

Her heart skipped a beat, dread filling her stomach. Dear Merlin, was this the Slug Club meeting Harry had talked about? The one where Tom asked him about… about…

 _Stay, Hermione._ It wasn't a request; it was an order.

She stayed.

Slughorn turned around. He seemed surprised to see him still standing there. "Look sharp, Tom; you don't want to be caught out of bed after-hours…"

Tom simply smiled. "Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, my boy, ask away."

"Well," Tom sounded rather hesitant, but she could sense his anticipation through the soul bond, "sir, I wondered what you know about… about Horcruxes?"

Hermione swallowed.

Slughorn stared at him, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of the empty wine glass. "Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?"

"Not exactly, sir," Tom said uncertainly – at least, he sounded uncertain. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."

Slughorn frowned. "No… well… you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom; that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed."

"But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you – sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously – I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could – so I just thought I'd ask –"

Hermione smiled. She knew Slughorn would eat it up, the careful flattery concealed in a hesitant request from his favorite student.

Slughorn nodded, although he still looked a bit uncertain. "Well… well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed a part of their soul."

"I don't quite understand how that works though, sir," Tom said, his voice carefully controlled.

"Well, you split your soul, you see, and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But, of course, existence in such a form… few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."

"How do you split your soul?"

Hermione frowned; hadn't he created a Horcrux already? Why would he ask about it if he already knew how it worked?

Unless, she realized, he wanted to know what would happen if he made more…

"Well," Slughorn sighed uncomfortably, "you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation; it is against nature."

"But how do you do it?"

"By an act of evil – the supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: he would encase the torn portion –"

"Encase? But how –"

Hermione winced; Tom sounded far too eager.

"There is a spell; do not ask me; I don't know!" Slughorn said, shaking his head. "Do I look as though I have tried it; do I look like a killer?"

"No, sir, of course not," Tom said quickly, his dark eyes widening. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to offend…"

"Not at all, not at all, not offended," Slughorn grunted. "It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things… wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to that aspect of magic…"

"Yes, sir," Tom said quietly. "What I don't understand, though – just out of curiosity. I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces; I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven –"

Hermione's eyes widened.

"Merlin's beard, Tom!" Slughorn exclaimed, shock written all over his face. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case… bad enough to divide the soul… but to rip it into seven pieces…"

There was an intense surge of excitement through the soul bond.

Slughorn was gazing at Tom like he'd never seen him before. "Of course," he muttered, "this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic…"

"Yes, of course, sir," Tom said quickly.

"But all the same, Tom…" Slughorn sighed, "keep it quiet, what I've told – that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know… Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it."

Hermione felt a brief flare of resentment – at Dumbledore, probably – through the soul bond before Tom promised, "I won't say a word, sir."

Slughorn nodded and turned away, but not before catching sight of her. "Why, Miss Granger! How long have you been there? Oh, nevermind, nevermind," he sputtered. "You keep quiet too."

"I will, sir," she assured him, before following Tom out of Slughorn's office.

He was silent all the way to the Room of Requirement – she assumed that was where they were heading – and her mind was spinning. _He's only made one Horcrux at this point. I think it's the ring, but I'm not sure. Could it be the diary? Either way, he'll make his next Horcrux soon, and it'll be either one of those. I think it'll be the ring next. Didn't Dumbledore say something about him not wearing the ring after he'd made it into a Horcrux? I think the next one will be the ring, and his current Horcrux is the diary._

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. _Pull yourself together, Hermione. Think! There has to be a way you can still save him! I have to save him. I must save him, I must! Think, think, think. Horcruxes are the only true way to make yourself immortal, but they're incredibly Dark._

She froze as a sudden thought struck her. _Wait. If we're going to take down the Ministry and begin something new, it'll probably take a while, especially to get it more firmly established. We'll have to be around long enough that the people accept it as normal._

_Dear Merlin. We'll both have to be immortal._

Hermione shook her head again. _Well, no matter that I'm Lady Persephone. I'd sooner die than make a Horcrux. I will never, ever, ever do that. Think, Hermione, think. I have to save him, I must, I must!_

Her mind was racing. _What are other ways to become immortal?_ She barely noticed that they'd entered the Room of Requirement. _I have to save him,_ she thought fiercely. _I won't kill him. I can't anymore, not with how close we've become… There has to be some way to keep him from delving into Horcruxes. Other Dark magic I'm okay with, but never Horcruxes, never again… Not after losing a year of my childhood destroying them. Come on, think, think, think._

And then the answer came to her, so suddenly, so glaringly and wonderfully obvious, that she had no idea how she hadn't thought of it before. They both sat in the large couch by the fire, and she fought to keep the triumphant smile off of her face. "Tom," she began, but he was gazing into the fire in a very un-Tom-ish way. She could feel the excitement rolling off of him in waves.

"He never said it was not possible to split one's soul more than one time," he said to himself. "He simply said it was unfathomable. I think it would be possible, however."

"Tom."

"Perhaps if I took an object from each House – I'll have to hide them, of course, but it would be possible – maybe the ring, and then if I found something of Ravenclaw's; I heard rumors about a diadem, maybe I could ask Helena Ravenclaw; she would probably know where it is."

"Tom."

"If I work at that Dark artifacts shop in Knockturn, I would probably come across a number of objects suitable. I will have to hide them; there will need to be all sorts of protective spells and enchantments, perhaps even illusions; I will need to look into those."

"Tom!"

His head snapped toward her; she had never spoken to him in a strong voice before. "Sorry," she murmured, "but I lived through the Second Wizarding War, remember? I fought against your future self. It didn't work. The Horcruxes, I mean. We were able to destroy them."

He frowned.

"What if," she said hesitantly, "what if there were other ways? Ways that wouldn't deform your appearance, I mean."

Tom tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes regarding her. On impulse, she took his hands in hers. It seemed to surprise him as much as it did her, but he didn't pull away.

"Tom," she said softly, "what do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"

He simply stared at her. "The Deathly Hallows?"

"Are you familiar with the Tale of the Three Brothers?"

"Of course," he said impatiently, but then his eyes widened. "Are you saying those objects –?"

She nodded. "The Elder Wand, the Cloak of Invisibility, and the Resurrection Stone."

"But that's just a myth."

"No, Tom. It's true. I've seen them, seen their powers. It's all true. Including the part about being Master of Death."

His eyes lifted to gaze at her, and she smiled. "Immortality, Tom. Immortality, without deforming your soul."

"Why have more people not gone looking for them?"

"Because," she said, shrugging, "they regard the tale as simply a children's tale, and the Deathly Hallows as a myth." She held his hands more tightly in her excitement. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before, but it would all fit! We find the Deathly Hallows, and we can become immortal without Horcruxes. You can keep your humanity, Tom."

His eyes were pensive as he considered this. "How do you know it will work?"

Hermione smiled. "Remember my friend, Harry Potter? The Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived and all that? During the Battle of Hogwarts – Merlin, it's strange to talk about your future self – during the Battle of Hogwarts, he went into the Forbidden Forest to die willingly so that the battle would stop. You cast the Killing Curse at him, but he survived."

Tom was gazing at her with an almost hungry expression on his face. She continued, "Some of it was his mother's sacrifice, but a lot of it came back to the fact that he was the true master of the Elder Wand, even if he didn't possess it at the time, while also being in possession of the Invisibility Cloak and the Resurrection Stone. He couldn't die. He later dropped the Stone in the Forest, but for that brief time, he was the Master of Death."

He gazed into the fire, a small crease between his eyebrows. Finally he turned back to her. "You are telling the truth?"

"The complete truth. Use Veritaserum on me if you want."

"There will be no need for that," he said. Something changed in his dark eyes, as if he began to trust her for the first time, and she gazed up at him with a slight smile on her face. He surprised her by squeezing her hands. "Master of Death," he murmured. She nodded slightly.

He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. Lord Voldemort and Lady Persephone, about to take down the Ministry of Magic and live forever at the ripe old age of seventeen. And here I am, proud of myself for remembering to wash my face each night. That's the difference between being a witch and being a Muggle, I suppose.
> 
> Please comment!
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd have enough money to own the Black Pearl. Like, the actual Black Pearl. And maybe hire Captain Jack Sparrow to steer it. I have neither of those things, so just assume I don't own Harry Potter.
> 
> Note: For this chapter, I'd suggest Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin and Little Game by Benny.

Slughorn's Christmas party was fast approaching, and for the most part, it was all the girls in the common room could talk about. Hermione couldn't really care less, but she joined in anyway so they wouldn't see her as antisocial, even though all she wanted to do was disappear into a quiet corner of the library and practice her Animagus meditations.

Was being an unregistered Animagus illegal? Yes. Did she care? Of course not. She was going to raze the Ministry anyway. Whatever form she took, it would be an invaluable asset to have, as she could do whatever she wanted without being suspected. The punishment she could care less about. It was the requirements that were the tricky part.

The first step – only the first! – was to keep a whole Mandrake leaf in one's mouth for an entire month. She would be doing that part over Christmas, as there would be very few people staying over at Hogwarts during that time and she wouldn't have to talk much. After that, she had to combine the leaf with a few certain rare items in a crystal phial, let it sit in a dark, undisturbed place for a little while, then let the phial be struck with moonlight. Then she would have to leave it undisturbed until the next thunderstorm, and until then she would have to repeat the words "Amato Animo Animato Animagus" every sunrise and sunset without fail, with her wand pressed to her heart. Once the phial was finally struck by lightning, she would chant the incantation again and drink its contents. The entire thing was bloody absurd, but she had never shied away from a challenge.

Especially one that was so vital to their success.

She smiled as she flipped another page of her book. Everything was going exactly to plan. True, the attack had pushed their plans back some, but it had also instilled in them a degree of caution, and they were now going about everything much more carefully than before. She had practically absorbed nearly every book in the Restricted Section, she was currently learning how to become an Animagus, and the Death Eaters - renamed the Knights of Walpurgis, as "Death Eater" was entirely too suspicious a name for a respectable politician's followers - the Knights were finally treating her with the respect Tom expected.

Speaking of Tom…

She smiled again. He had approached her after classes one day, in full view of nearly all of her classmates, and had asked her to the Christmas party. She had accepted, of course, and now it was talked about just as much as the party itself, with girls speculating on how long they had been together, rumors spreading left and right. She had again found herself the center of attention, second only to Tom, and this time it wasn't for being friends with the Boy Who Lived, but for being the date of the school's golden boy, a future Dark Lord.

Fate was strange.

Hermione sighed, closing her book, unable to concentrate anymore. She… she liked him. Well, at least she thought she did. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, of course, but she simply couldn'tdeny it anymore. She had smelled his scent in the Amortentia, and that spelled out her doom better than anything else could. What a fall. Hermione Granger, war heroine, growing feelings for the monster that had caused the war in the first place.

Although, she mused, resting her chin on her fist, he wasn't a monster. He was a person. A sociopath, maybe, but still a person. A person who liked only one sugar in his tea, and had a soft spot for Delphi even if he wouldn't willingly admit it to a soul, and had messy hair in the mornings, and hated parchment because it gave him papercuts. He was intelligent, and had a very dark humor to him, and was protective of her even though she resisted it. He was the only student who had ever been able to match her intelligence, and she suspected that he actually surpassed it. Slightly. He pushed her, but was still patient, probing her answers until she stumbled upon the correct one. Already, with his help, she had made huge leaps in her ability to use wandless magic, and as a result was growing even more powerful than when she used her wand. Eventually, she knew, she wouldn't have to use one anymore.

Hermione leaned back in her chair and stared up at the tall ceiling of the library. It didn't feel like she was working with Tom Riddle. To her, he was just Tom. Her Tom. Not Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord. It was rather strange, really, that her mind separated the two, even though they were the same person.

Or maybe it wasn't all that strange at all.

She was roused abruptly from her thoughts by the sound of giggling. She sat up and peered around one of the bookshelves, still sitting in her chair, to see two fourth-year girls. They were casting her shy smiles, in between their giggles. She rolled her eyes. Had she been that silly when she was fourteen?

One of them approached her. "Hi. It's Hermione, right?"

Hermione nodded, curious despite herself.

"Are you really going steady with Tom Riddle?" The two girls gazed at her, their eagerness shining in their eyes, and she gave an amused laugh.

"No." The two girls seemed to wilt, and she smiled slightly. "However, I am going with him to Slughorn's party."

"I knew it!" the other one squealed. "Can you say hi to him for me?"

Hermione blinked. "Do you know each other?"

"No," she said slowly, but then brightened. "But maybe you could introduce us!"

She laughed. "Maybe another day."

The two girls left, skipping, and Hermione shook her head, still grinning. They were two of the silliest girls she had ever met, and that included Lavender and Parvarti.

The heavy doors opened, and Tom entered the library. _Speak of the devil,_ she thought. He approached her, sliding into the chair across from her. "Were you recently accosted rather violently by two third-year girls?"

"Fourth-years," Hermione replied. "And yes. They told me to tell you they said hi."

"Ah," he nodded. "Yes. I… received the message."

He looked uncomfortable - Tom Riddle, uncomfortable! - and she smirked. "You know, Tom, you could take one of them to the dance. I'm sure whoever you chose would enjoy herself immensely."

Tom raised an eyebrow, a smirk to rival her own. "Unfortunately, I'll have to decline. They are entirely too smothering with their affections." His mouth twisted. "Not to mention the simpering."

She grinned as she got up to reshelf her book. "Oh, but I was under the impression you were going alone to the dance. You might take one of them just so you don't have the shame of being dateless."

"Ah, but you see, I am taking someone."

"Really?" Hermione affected surprise. "Who in her right mind would go with _you?"_

"Hilarious."

"I know." She sat down next to him instead of in her chair, grinning up at him. "So, who is this mystery girl? Tell me about her."

"Oh, I doubt you will know her. She is far more talented than you."

"Really. In what way?"

He smiled smugly down at her. "Well, she can do wandless magic, for one thing."

"Wandless magic. Now, that's impressive," she said, even as a stupid smile spread across her face. "Sounds like I don't have a chance then. Does that bother you?"

"Not in the slightest."

Hermione grinned.

"I know _you_ are going alone, though," he said, "which is about as I expected."

"For your information," she said haughtily, "I am going with someone."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "You?"

"Yes. Me."

He leaned back in his chair. "You're lying."

"I am not!"

"Prove it."

"Well," she began, "for starters, he is _far_ more handsome than you."

"Lies," he scoffed.

She smirked. "He's also the most popular student in all of Hogwarts."

"Now I know you're lying. You are so envious of my date that you invented one."

She leaned against the back of her chair. "He's a future Dark Lord."

He tilted his head. "Really. So you will be going to Slughorn's Christmas party with a Dark Lord."

" _Future_ Dark Lord. There's a difference."

There was a liveliness in his dark eyes that she had never seen before. "Future Dark Lord, then. I cannot imagine that Hogwarts' golden girl would associate herself with such a bad character."

She grinned. "I hear he likes cats."

He stared at her, then he broke contact, a faint crease appearing between his eyebrows. "You know, then."

"About your secret friendship with Delphi? Oh, I know, all right. It's your deepest, darkest secret."

Tom shook his head. "You will ruin my entire reputation."

"Which is why I won't breathe a word to anyone. I mean, fake reputation is all a man has."

He gazed at her again, then gave a short laugh, the first genuine one she had ever heard from him. It surprised her so much that she stared at him in amazement. Tom Riddle, laugh? Either she was dreaming, or the world was about to end.

She got up, ostensibly to retrieve another book from a nearby shelf, but really so she could hide her smile.

o-0-o

December 20th arrived with a whirlwind of activity. The girls shopped for dresses with the tightest waists they could find, and spent hours fixing up their hair and makeup in the girls' dormitories. Hair half-done, they scrambled around for some Sleekeazy's Hair Solution or for clips. Hermione had seen more bottles of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion lying around the dormitory and common room than she could count, and she'd had to pry a curious Delphi away from a bottle of concealer that was lying dangerously close to the edge of one of the sinks.

Even though Hermione could really care less about the whole thing, she decided in the end that she needed to make a memorable appearance, an appearance that would introduce her as the Lady Persephone, even if no one knew who that was quite yet. Which was how the night of the party, she found herself dressed in a lovely dark purple dress, with a flattering snug bodice, loose long sleeves, defined waistband (everything was about emphasizing the waist in the 1940s, it seemed), and layered skirt that flared out at the waistline, stopping a few inches below her knees (which the girls had told her was known as "tea-length"). She also had on some beautiful yet quite uncomfortable heels that Cecily had _insisted_ she wear, which made her a couple of inches taller than normal. She absolutely hated the things, but she had to admit that they did look rather striking with her dress.

Oraia, Lucretia, and Cecily hurried out of the bathroom, all looking quite gorgeous, so much so that she felt rather self-conscious. Oraia was dressed in a dark green gown, her long, sleek black hair done up in a lovely updo. Lucretia wore a shimmery blue gown that went well with her blond hair, and Cecily was dressed in a gold dress that came down only to her knees, a shocking thing in this time.

"Don't we all look gorgeous," Lucretia smiled.

"Oh, Hermione, you haven't done your makeup yet!" Oraia exclaimed.

Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her hair, still untamed. "Merlin's pants. How much time do we have?"

Cecily performed a Tempus charm, and she pursed her lips. "Maybe five minutes. No more, though."

"Oh, whatever," Lucretia muttered. "Let's just be fashionably late."

Hermione grinned, and they raced to the mirror. Lucretia worked on taming her hair while she steadily did her makeup. She had never liked having a full face of makeup, so that part was relatively easy, and the end result was light yet flattering.

Lucretia, self-proclaimed Hair Goddess of Slytherin House (no one disagreed), grabbed a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and quickly had Hermione's bushy hair soft and silky. She then held up a few locks with some fancy-looking clips she had borrowed from her trunk, and soon had her now-wavy hair done up in a rather lovely braided updo that Hermione couldn't have attempted in her wildest dreams.

"There," she finally announced, "you look absolutely perfect."

Hermione beamed her thanks, then startled. "Oh! I almost forgot."

She walked - quickly - to the bathroom and sprayed a few light spritzes of strawberry perfume. She had indulged herself while she was shopping for clothes of this era, and while it had been a bit expensive, the delicate aroma was most definitely worth it.

She and the three girls made their way down to the common room, where they found their dates waiting for them. Hermione grinned smugly as she saw Tom's eyebrows lift just the tiniest bit.

It was fun feeling pretty.

She took his arm, and as he led her to Slughorn's office, which would be expanded for the occasion, her mind worked rapidly. It really had been quite clever of him to ask her in front of the school's best - or worst, depending on how one looked at it - gossips. It had put her in a position of temporary fame among the students, and while Tom was already famous, being Tom, she was almost as well-known only because she was the "brightest witch of her age" and all that. It would be good for people to remember her for a reason other than her intelligence, when she became Lady Persephone and began to recruit people to their cause.

They paused in front of the door, the other three couples having entered already. She drew a deep breath.

 _Slughorn will have many notable magical names of the day at this party,_ Tom told her. _It will be imperative that we make a good impression._

 _So watch my tongue?_ Hermione asked wryly.

He raised an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes. _Of course I'll be careful, Tom._

_Good. Just remember that this is 1944, not 1999. People may have different opinions than you are used to._

Hermione nodded. _In other words,_ she thought to herself, _don't get too mad if someone acts sexist. I can do that._

At least, she thought she could. _Slytherin, Hermione,_ she told herself. _Act like the Slytherin the Hat saw in you._

She lifted her chin and straightened her posture, and they entered Slughorn's office.

It was quite loud once they opened the doors, and slightly darker than normal, with colored hangings draped across the ceiling. There was a golden sphere in the center of the hangings that fairies flitted around, casting glowing lights all around the room. House elves carried trays of food (Hermione inwardly scowled), people all around her were chattering in conversation, and at the center of the room, the floor appeared suspiciously to be set up for ballroom dancing.

Well. Whatever happened tonight, she wouldn't dance. She knew that for certain.

She cast her gaze around the room, noting that many eyes were on her and Tom. She put a pleasant smile on her face, and together they walked over to Slughorn, who was deep in conversation with a middle-aged wizard. Slughorn was gesturing emphatically, spilling some of his wine over the rim of the crystal glass.

"Why, Hermione, Tom, welcome, welcome!" he exclaimed. "So glad you could make it. Have you met Adalbert here?"

"I don't believe so, sir," Hermione said.

Adalbert held out his hand. "Who might you two be?"

"I'm Hermione Granger."

"Tom Riddle, sir."

"Adalbert Waffling," he said, shaking Tom's hand and kissing the back of Hermione's.

Her eyes widened. " _The_ Adalbert Waffling? The author of _Magical Theory?_ It's an honor to meet you, sir," she said excitedly. She cleared her throat and attempted to curb her enthusiasm. "I've read your work more times than I can count. The Fundamental Laws of Magic, all of the magical theory presented in it, it's absolutely fascinating." Tom gave her an approving smile.

"Why, I'm quite glad you think so," Adalbert beamed. "You're one of few that do, it seems. Most people prefer learning what's already been discovered, rather than theorizing about the laws of magic."

"I think it's incredibly interesting, sir."

"What do you intend to do when you get older?" he asked curiously. "It's clear you have a quick mind. Do you intend to teach?"

"Well -" she looked to Tom for permission, who gave a short nod, "Well, I was hoping to help Tom run for Minister of Magic."

Adalbert looked shocked, then chortled. "A woman in politics! You're quite funny, my dear."

Hermione grimaced, but somehow turned it into a smile. A very tight smile. "I'm not joking, sir."

"You're serious?" He stared at her. "You're quite ambitious, then. Well, then, you should be prepared for failure, I'm afraid. Most people don't accept jobs for women. You should be a teacher. A nice, safe job." He shook his head. "A woman in politics," he muttered. Hermione wasn't sure she was intended to hear that last bit, but decided she'd heard enough at any rate.

Tom put a warning pressure on her arm, and she gave Adalbert an even bigger smile. Her jaw ached. _Slytherin, Hermione, act like a Slytherin,_ she repeated. "I'm afraid I'm not that skilled at teaching, sir."

He tsked, shaking his head sympathetically, and Tom came to her rescue. "It was a pleasure meeting you, sir," he said in his model student voice, and Adalbert beamed at him.

"Now, here's someone who'll go far. Minister of Magic, you said?"

"Yes, sir."

"I believe it. Was this the Tom you were speaking of, Horace?"

"Indeed it was! As I said, never seen someone so skilled in all my years at Hogwarts, and I've been teaching here for some time, you know. Well, of course, excepting Hermione," he added apologetically. "She and Tom here have been neck and neck all school year!"

"Really," Adalbert mused, glancing back and forth between the two of them. "Interesting. Well, it was good to meet both of you," his gaze swept over Hermione but lingered on Tom, "but I'm sure there are other people here you'd like to talk to."

"Yes, thank you," Hermione gritted her teeth and performed a rather clumsy curtsey, "and thank you for your time."

Tom gave a quick bow to the older gentleman, and they made a quick escape.

"Merlin's beard," Hermione growled once they were out of earshot, "next thing you know, he'd be asking me whether I can cook and how many babies I want to take care of."

He gave her an amused smile. "Well, there is a guest here who I can guarantee will not be _sexist,_ as you called it." Her gaze fell to where he was indicating, upon another middle-aged wizard, a tall man with rather scruffy reddish brown hair, a man with a Bowtruckle in his top pocket…

She almost ran over to him in her excitement. The man turned and saw her, blinking.

"Oh, hello," said Newt Scamander.

"I'm Hermione Granger, sir," she said enthusiastically, holding out her hand. He stared at it, tilting his head, before shaking it. "And you're Mr. Scamander, aren't you? The magizoologist and the author of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and the very first person to actually capture Grindelwald?"

"You can just call me Newt, Miss Granger," he said with an embarrassed smile, and she beamed.

"It's an honor to meet you. And I love your Bowtruckle."

"Oh, this is Pickett," he said, holding out his hand next to his top pocket. Pickett hid deeper inside it. "He's a bit shy. Come on out, Pick, it's all right."

Hermione smiled as she watched his obvious affection for the creature. The Bowtruckle eventually inched out onto his hand. She had never seen one so tame; the Bowtruckles they had studied in Care of Magical Creatures had been rather vicious. Pickett crawled off of his hand and up his coat, and Newt plucked him off and set him back on his hand again. "Would you like to hold him?"

Her eyes lit up, and Newt picked up Pickett again and tried to place him on her palm. The Bowtruckle clung to Newt's fingers when he tried to hand him over, and he smiled fondly. "He has attachment issues. It's all right, Pick, she won't hurt you."

Newt Scamander finally was able to place him onto her hand, and her eyes widened in delight. Its legs were quite skinny, and its feet - if one could those feet; they looked more like roots - its feet tickled her palm. "He's adorable," she grinned, just as Tom approached. "I've always loved learning about Bowtruckles. Where'd you get him?"

"Rescued him from a forest fire. I have six, actually; Pickett, of course, and Titus, Flinn, Poppy, Marlow, and Tom."

"I beg your pardon?" Tom said stiffly.

Newt turned. "Oh, hello. Are you a friend of Hermione's?"

"Perhaps," he said. Hermione gazed at him reproachfully, and Tom gave her a sarcastic smile. "Of course, sir. We are completely inseparable."

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the completely adorable Pickett, who was making his steady way up her arm.

"He likes you," Newt smiled. "He doesn't like a lot of people. He's rather picky."

"I like him too," Hermione said. "He's really cute."

Pickett moved happily.

"Well, thank you so much for your time, Newt," she grinned, placing Pickett gently back into Newt's hand. "It was lovely to meet you."

"And you. You can always stop by if you'd like to see more of my creatures," he said, in an almost embarrassed way. "I think my wife Tina would like to meet you."

"I'd love that," she said honestly, and Newt smiled at her, looking grateful. She took Tom's arm and as they crossed the room together, she gushed, "Newt Scamander, Tom! _The_ Newt Scamander!"

"I know who he is," he said, sounding slightly amused.

"But to think that I actually met the author of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them!_ And he played a prominent role in the global wizarding war, and fought against Grindelwald!"

Tom just smiled.

After meeting Hesper Starkey, a famous alchemist, Miranda Goshawk, the author of _The Standard Book of Spells_ series, and Bathilda Bagshot, author of _A History of Magic_ (thankfully much younger and not possessed by a snake this time around), Hermione's head was spinning. She tugged at her long sleeves, wanting nothing more than to push them up, but resisted, knowing that if she did, it would expose her Dark Mark, which was the last thing she needed at the moment.

Leaving Tom talking pleasantly with an old wizard named Caractacus Burke, she finally headed over to the punch station to fill herself a glass and sat down, flexing her sore feet and sipping the punch. She grimaced. It tasted horrible. _Who in Merlin's name would drink something like this?_

_Something like what?_

Hermione jumped; she hadn't realized she'd spoken through the soul bond. _This punch. It's absolutely horrid._

_Noted._

She grinned, then noticed people staring and quickly schooled her face into a neutral expression. She didn't want people thinking her mad, of all things. Hermione frowned into her cup, then downed the rest of its contents, screwing up her face slightly at the bad taste.

The loud music combined with the punch was beginning to make her head hurt. She'd just placed the glass on the table and made her way over to Tom, standing next to him, when the lights dimmed and a slow waltz started playing. She almost sighed in relief at the change in music, but then noticed couples all over the room heading to the dance floor. Hermione cast a dismayed look at Tom, who smiled mockingly and held out his hand. She scowled up at him before exhaling in annoyance, taking it.

"I can't dance," she told him as he led her to the middle of the floor. "Well, I can't ballroom dance, anyway."

"Really," he said, raising an eyebrow. "It's fairly simple. Here."

He guided her in the steps. Up, step, step, left, step, step, in, step, step, twirl, step, step. As she slowly caught on, Hermione thought to herself ruefully, _I'm being taught how to dance by Tom Marvolo Riddle. I think this is one of the strangest things that's ever happened to me, and that's saying something. That's really saying something._

They danced a few more songs, and then she noticed the dance floor was emptier than before. Casting her eye around the room, she saw, to her utter horror, couples locked around each other so tightly she could barely tell who was who. She gave Tom a glare that promised death in the most torturous way possible if he tried anything, and his return gaze was so flat that his face might have been carved from stone. Hermione grinned despite herself, and although they were now only one of three "couples" still dancing, she found she didn't care.

After about the fourth or fifth song, she finally realized something. She _liked_ dancing with Tom Riddle. Appalled, she almost quit the dance floor right then and there. All that kept her was the awareness of how nice it felt. She mentally ran off a few curses she had learned from Harry once she'd thought that, but she couldn't deny it. They actually fit, almost like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, far more than she had with Viktor or even Ron.

Hermione also just really liked his scent.

 _Snap out of it,_ she told herself sternly. _Just because you smelled him in the Amortentia doesn't mean a bloody thing. It doesn't!_

Step, step, twirl.

_I would have to disagree. Amortentia is quite a strong indicator, actually._

She missed a step - several, as a matter of fact - and felt the blood drain from her face. Tom said nothing, but merely continued dancing with her as though nothing had just passed between them.

Up, step, step, left, step, step, in, step, step, twirl, step, step. She tried unsuccessfully to calm her racing heart, and was careful to block the soul bond this time around as her mind raced.

Once Hermione knew that her thoughts were secure, she let off a mental scream. Then she let her thoughts run frantically. _How could I be so stupid? I'm supposed to be the brightest witch of my age, and I've ruined everything! Everything! How in Merlin's name could I be so careless?_

She saw him gaze down at her stricken expression with the smallest of smiles on his face. Amusement, with a hint of mockery. Merlin's bloody _pants!_

Tom raised an eyebrow, the slightest of gestures. "Would you like to know what I smelled in the Amortentia?" he murmured.

Hermione stared up at him, curious despite herself.

After another twirl, he leaned down close so no one else could hear. "Strawberries."

She froze, all pretense at composure forgotten as her heart rate quickened yet again, her cheeks turning crimson. "What?" she breathed.

"Strawberries," he repeated quietly, mockery dancing in his dark eyes, eyes a girl could drown in. "I suppose it makes sense now. I had wondered about it for some time."

He spun her again, and Hermione forced herself to keep dancing. Up, step, step, left, step, step, in, step, step. As she twirled easily in his arms, she felt even more confused than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Finally a hint at what's to come ;) It's been a long time!
> 
> Sorry this update was late. I was out of town this past week, so I didn't have access to a computer. This chapter was actually entirely handwritten. It was pretty fun, actually; I felt a little like Jo March.
> 
> The line "a fake reputation is all a man has" actually comes from Flynn Rider in Tangled. He's my future husband. I don't care that he's already married to the most adorable fictional character of all time besides Newt. He's my soulmate.
> 
> Readers: Wait, can you specify? Which one's your soulmate? Flynn or Newt?
> 
> Me: Yes.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and don't forget to review!
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; that right belongs to J.K. Rowling. She just lets me play with her characters. :)
> 
> Note: For this chapter, I'd recommend Darkside by Alan Walker and Warriors by Imagine Dragons.

Tom fingered his ring absentmindedly as he gazed at the blank parchment on which he was supposed to be writing an essay. That completely pointless essay on theory of human transfiguration that Dumbledore had assigned. _Dumbledore's a fool,_ he scoffed to himself. _As powerful as he is, and he chooses to teach, of all things…_

That was what disgusted him the most about Dumbledore, even more than the man's holier-than-thou mindset. He was the most powerful man alive - he had defeated Grindelwald, the Darkest wizard in at least a century and the leader of the global wizarding war - and yet he chose to teach Transfiguration to a group of imbeciles.

His lip twisted as he dipped his quill carefully in the ink jar and began to write. Others had called his handwriting elegant; it was actually what had impressed the professors most at their first meeting - at least, until they heard the poor orphan speak, saw how respectful he was, and so devoted to learning magic… All this with Dumbledore scrutinizing him over those absurd half-moon spectacles.

Salazar, he hated the man. That had not faded even a little since his first visit with him at that Merlin-forsaken orphanage. Tom was quite sure Dumbledore saw right through his model student act. He had all of the professors wrapped around his finger, yet the Transfiguration professor might be the one to unravel all of his carefully constructed plans. It was completely maddening!

Well, at least there was Hermione. For some reason, intent as she was on taking down the Ministry, she hadn't had to pretend a model student act at all. It was strange. She read Dark Arts books (at his suggestion), she was currently becoming an unregistered Animagus, and yet she was determined to prove her worth to the professors, prove that she was just as intelligent as him, even though it would not matter even a little. Yes, very strange.

Tom's mind wandered to Slughorn's party, and he smiled. She really needed to work on blocking their soul bond. Otherwise he could simply read her thoughts, something he had done on quite a few occasions that night. He wondered if perhaps that was only a problem that night because she had been uncomfortable; it had never presented an issue before. At any rate, her failure to block their connection had allowed him to get a read on how she felt about him, and hopefully he had thrown her off with the strawberry comment enough to make her even more malleable than before.

The worst thing, he thought disgustedly, was that it had not even been a lie. He really had smelled strawberries in the Amortentia. What that meant, he did not even want to consider.

His mind went there anyway.

Yes, one smelled in the Amortentia what attracted one the most. He had smelled strawberries. Of course, perhaps he simply liked the scent of strawberries themselves, and it had nothing to do with her perfume or her shampoo or whatever it was. He seriously doubted it. He stared into the fire, his essay forgotten.

They had only half of a school year left, as they would be leaving on the Hogwarts Express in a few days for Christmas break, and in that half of a school year, they needed to plan how they would retrieve the Deathly Hallows, create a foolproof strategy to take down the Ministry, and come up with a plan for a better government than the one that currently existed, one that would give the two of them absolute power while still keeping the people happy. They did not have time for… whatever _this_ was. It needed to stop, and soon.

He narrowed his eyes in thought. The Death Ea - no, the Knights; he had to agree with her that "Knights" was much less conspicuous - the Knights had come up with some rather ingenious ideas. They could be intelligent, when they put their minds to it. They just didn't usually, mainly out of laziness. Macnair and Dolohov were finally behaving and had accepted their place in the hierarchy, albeit grudgingly. Altogether, everything was flowing smoothly. Except…

He was back to where he started. Dumbledore, poking his crooked nose where it didn't belong, peering suspiciously across the Great Hall at him and Hermione through those absurd glasses. The man would - not - stop!

Tom glanced down at his unfinished essay, then rose from the chair with a frown of disgust and tossed the parchment into the fireplace before sending for Hermione through the Dark Mark, rather than the soul bond. It was good to remind her that she had been branded every now and then.

Around ten minutes later, an admittedly impressive time considering the Room of Requirement was on the seventh floor and the Slytherin common room in the dungeons, she opened the heavy door and entered their meeting space with a slight frown on her pretty face. Tom blinked. Pretty? Where in Salazar's name had that come from? He shook his head slightly. He must be tired; that was all. Surely that was all.

Hermione glanced to the fireplace, where the parchment was blackening and curling up, and a small smile crossed her face before vanishing. "You too? Merlin, but I couldn't concentrate; it was like my brain was working on overdrive."

"How skilled are you at Memory Charms?"

She blinked at the abrupt change of topic. "You mean Obliviate? Pretty good, I suppose. I mean… before the war - my parents are Muggles, you know - I modified their memories so they forgot about me entirely, and I convinced them that they were named Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and they wanted nothing more than to relocate to Australia." Pain flashed across her face and disappeared so quickly that he was not entirely sure he had seen it. "The Death Eaters were killing Muggles who didn't even know the Wizarding World existed, and I… I wanted to keep them safe. It kept them out of the war. I was able to return their memories, but they're highly mistrustful of me now, and of magic in general. They used to be really supportive."

Tom did not believe he had ever met anyone as strong as Hermione Granger.

"And Legilimency?"

"Terrible," she grimaced. "Absolutely terrible."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I am a skilled Legilimens, so perhaps I will be the one to look into the minds of people we interrogate. You are clearly skilled in Obliviate, so mostly I would like you to practice that."

"How would I do that?" she frowned. "Especially without getting in trouble."

"I'm sure you can think of something," Tom said. "For obvious reasons, we will not be practicing the Memory Charm today. Wand."

She pulled out her wand, rather reluctantly, and tossed it to him. He caught it easily and set it on a nearby table. "You know the routine." He placed his wand beside hers.

"Well, except that," she frowned. "You're going wandless too?"

"I need practice," he said, tilting his head. "Begin."

Hermione crossed her arms, the look of someone completely at ease, but she assessed him through narrowed eyes. Then suddenly, a Stupefy came flying toward him. He blocked it with a shield and smiled; she had attempted to catch him off-guard. Not perfect, but better. Much better.

She shifted, then rained a series of spells at him. He blocked each one and sent spells back at her, which she also blocked, albeit narrowly. They bombarded each other with spells; she tended to stick to more Light magic, while he veered towards Darker spells. That was something they needed to work on, he mused, even as he blocked another sequence of spells. She was still uncomfortable with using Dark magic, but Dark magic tended to surprise people, catch them unprepared. He decided to make that their focus after they returned from Christmas break.

Tom finally broke through her shields and sent a light cutting curse at her. It hit her on the lip, and she dissolved her shield. Hermione appeared to be satisfied as she wiped away blood that was trickling from the scratch. The curse was very mild; the cut would be superficial. He himself had attained bruises he had not had when he entered.

"Good," he said simply. "You lasted much longer than before."

She smiled. "I've been practicing."

"I can tell," he nodded, turning to go. "Perfect Obliviate over the break."

"Wait - Tom," she said, catching his arm. Hermione frowned up at him. "Why are you helping me?"

His eyebrows creased together. "You know why."

"No, Tom. You don't want to take down the Ministry. You want… something else." She tilted her head in thought. "What's your goal here?"

She was learning. What one saw on the surface was not always what was real. Very Slytherin of her, he thought approvingly. But she was wrong. He did, in fact, want to demolish the Ministry. Just not for the same reasons as her. She hated it because of her strong sense of justice, and she was willing to do whatever it took to get that justice fulfilled. He, however…

He had nothing personal against the Ministry. They were a load of greedy slimebags, yes, but before this year, they had had nothing to do with him. Before this year, he had wanted to make Horcruxes, introduce himself as the next Dark Lord, perhaps begin a reign on terror, and rule the world, or at least Wizarding Britain. His ambitions had changed abruptly in the span of about two months, and he now found himself sharing a path to politics, as well as immortality, with a Mudblood. Why?

He smiled as he watched a thin stream of blood run down her lip. The blood purity issue was completely idiotic; he could see that now. Muggles… Muggles were filth, helpless filth with a sheep mentality, filth who were so busy living their pointless little lives that they couldn't see the world right under their noses. But as far as wizards and witches were concerned…

Purebloods versus Mudbloods. What did it matter that Hermione Granger was not descended from a pureblood lineage? What did it matter that she had "filthy blood"? What did it matter, when she had power perhaps to equal his own, and he had her completely wrapped around his finger?

And there lay his answer.

"Power, Hermione," he said softly, brushing his thumb against the cut on her lip. He smiled as he felt her breath catch.

Yes, she was right where he wanted her.

o-0-o

It was finally the last day of term. Hermione didn't bother to pack up her trunk, as she would be staying at Hogwarts over the break. She had signed the form and everything, and now she had the perfect opportunity to complete her Animagus transformation. She had already held the Mandrake leaf - stolen after curfew from the Herbology greenhouses - in her mouth for the past two weeks; it made it hard to speak, but she had practiced over time, and now she hardly noticed it. She had even had it in her mouth during the duelling session with Tom, and she didn't think he had ever been aware of it. It tasted horrible, yes, and it made it hard to brush her teeth or eat or do much of anything, really, but it would be worth it.

She glanced up from her quiet reading corner at the sound of a door opening to see Abraxas coming out of a classroom, a note in his hand. He walked toward her and gave her a deep bow, flourishing his robes as if they were a cloak. "My Lady."

"Oh, honestly, stand up straight," she laughed. "You know you only have to call me that at the meetings, Abraxas."

"And in Tom's presence, and any time I address you after we graduate," he pointed out. "Might as well get some practice in."

Still smiling, she looked at the note. "What's this?"

"Oh, right. Professor Dumbledore wants to see you."

Hermione frowned. What on earth for? "Thanks, Abraxas."

He just stood there, and she rolled her eyes. "You may go."

"Why thank you, my Lady." Abraxas gave her a bow that was far too deep - he had a grin on his face reminiscent of the twins, as if he knew exactly how much it annoyed her - and headed off down the corridor.

She shook her head, made a face at him for good measure, and then headed up to the Headmaster's office before remembering that the Headmaster was Dippet, not Dumbledore. She scowled and turned to make her way to the Transfiguration teacher's office.

_Tom, Dumbledore wants to see me._

She felt his immediate suspicion. _You have been working on Occlumency, correct?_

_Yes._

_Good. He is a Legilimens, and a quite accomplished one at that. Be on your guard._

_Should I just relay the conversation over the soul bond?_

There was a pause. _Yes, I think that would be wise._

It was no longer necessary to send messages directly through the soul bond. Their link had become much stronger over time, so now Tom could hear and see what she wished him to see. It was strange, yes, but quite convenient. She would just have to be sure she concentrated on the conversation.

Hermione nodded and stepped inside.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Come in, come in."

She smiled nervously at Dumbledore as she closed the heavy wooden door to his study, taking the time to gather her bearings. It still threw her to see the man she had known so well as his much-younger self. His blue eyes still twinkled over half-moon spectacles, but his hair - auburn rather than silver - was cut in a short beard, rather than one he could tuck into his belt. He dressed much less eccentrically, too. His nose was just as crooked as ever, though.

"I heard you wished to see me, sir?" she asked politely, taking a seat in front of his desk.

"Yes," he said, smiling. "I hope you have had a good year so far."

"Oh, yes, it's been excellent!" she beamed. "Classes have been quite fun, and although I never expected to enjoy Slytherin - I was a Gryffindor, you know - everyone's been perfectly lovely."

"Wonderful, wonderful. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

Hermione shrugged. "Sure." She took one and popped it in her mouth, and immediately felt happier. They really were delicious. She made a mental note to get some the next time she went to Honeydukes.

"And what about your activities outside the classroom?" Dumbledore asked.

She smiled. "I've been loving the library. And I do enjoy watching the Quidditch games when the weather's nice."

He nodded, and touched the tips of his fingers together. It was such a familiar gesture that she felt a small pang. "I've noticed you've been spending quite a great deal of time with young Tom Riddle."

She nodded. "He's a good friend too. I've been enjoying his company, and we have a little rivalry thing going on with our schoolwork."

_Only a friend? I would be offended, if I cared._

_Oh, do be quiet, Tom._

She felt him smirk.

Dumbledore regarded her thoughtfully. "Now, Miss Granger, if I may ask… are you entirely trusting of Mr. Riddle?" Tom gave a disgusted laugh.

She pretended to be surprised at the question. "Of course, sir. We get along splendidly."

Dumbledore looked troubled. "I would advise caution. I do not believe the way he behaves on the surface is his true character."

Hermione blinked ostentatiously. "Oh? What makes you say that?"

"I have known him for longer than you have, Miss Granger. As a matter of fact, I was the one who visited him at Wool's Orphanage to tell him about Hogwarts. I have seen his true self, and that is not the boy I see now."

She tilted her head. "Maybe he's changed, sir. With all due respect, he is a perfect gentleman, and a dear friend, and I… and I would trust him with my life." _And that's not even a lie,_ she thought. _The Unbreakable Vow guarantees it._

Dumbledore frowned at her thoughtfully, and his eyes were so light and sharp that she hastily put up a shield. She let go of her emotions - constant practice had ensured that the process was now quite fast - and soon had the barrier strong and sturdy. It was only for a moment, but the attempted invasion of her mind and privacy shocked her. When Tom had done it, they had made an agreement soon after, but for a teacher to do it, least of all _Dumbledore…_

Dumbledore sighed, and he suddenly looked tired. "So there is nothing you wish to tell me?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, sir, nothing."

"Very well, then. Off you go. You may take a lemon drop with you, if you would like."

"Thank you, sir." Hermione took one and got out of her chair, but right before she reached the door, she turned. "You should know, sir, your Transfiguration class is one of my favorites. You're really an excellent teacher."

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Thank you, Miss Granger, you are very kind."

As Hermione closed the door, she felt a strange pang of guilt - although why she should feel that way was unclear to her. She had answered his questions truthfully, all of them, and yet…

She shook her head. No matter. Dumbledore had tried to look after her, in his own way, and she had assured him there was nothing to be worried about. No reason to feel guilty at all. None.

None at all.

o-0-o

She gave a fierce hug to Oraia, Cecily, and Lucretia. " Have a Happy Christmas, you all."

"You too, Hermione."

Abraxas ruffled her hair. "Don't get too lonely while I'm gone."

Hermione smirked at him. "I think I'll actually enjoy it. Peace and quiet and all." He grinned as he followed the three girls out of the gates. She waved goodbyes to Rufus, Dorian, and Abaris, who gave her flourishing bows where the professors couldn't see. She shook her head fondly, smiling to herself, and then it was just her and Tom.

Silence.

She fiddled with her scarf. "You'll go back to Riddle Manor, won't you?"

He gave a short, brief nod, and she frowned. "Won't it be quiet there? You're the only one who lives there now, right?"

"I will be fine," he said quietly, but his eyes searched hers. "You're sure you will be alright by yourself?"

Her head snapped up in surprise, and she stared at him. "Er… yes. At least, I think so." She attempted a brave smile. "Besides, I have my books to keep me company."

Tom nodded, but there was still a faint crease between his eyebrows. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Tom."

He left, and she felt strangely lonely.

o-0-o

The castle was much quieter than she'd anticipated, but she embraced it. With the Mandrake leaf still sitting patiently in the back of her mouth, she practiced spells, worked on defense, and even gathered some of the ingredients needed for the Animagus potion.

She also found a way to practice Obliviate.

It was a rather Gryffindor method, but she still had enough of that in her that it mixed with her newfound Slytherin cunning. It was an easy process, actually. She would go up to a teacher or a student, tell them something ridiculous or shocking - either way, something that would be highly memorable - and then Obliviate them. Then later, she would approach them and ask them something relating to whatever she had talked with them about. Usually, they didn't remember it, but if she probed long enough, asked enough questions, it would trigger the hidden memory, and she would have to Obliviate them all over again.

Eventually, though, she got to where they didn't remember it at all, and that she considered a success.

It really was rather strange, though, being one of three students staying at Hogwarts over break. They hardly crossed paths at all, and when they did, they ignored each other. She also had the library completely to herself, which was a beautiful change. It was totally silent. The shelves were full, as there were no books being checked out over break, and she immersed herself in the few books from the Restricted Section that she hadn't read yet. Except for _Magick Moste Evile._ She wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot broomstick.

On Christmas morning, she allowed herself to sleep late, which was a novelty, and when she finally awoke, there was a rather large stack of presents by her bed. Hermione grinned happily. She had gotten everyone else presents, of course, but she hadn't known whether or not they would give any back to her. She was probably just being hard on herself, of course, but it was a nice feeling.

She took the one at the top of the pile, addressed to her from Abraxas. She unwrapped it to reveal a set of books she had been longing to read but hadn't had the money for, as they were rather expensive. Hermione beamed and placed them carefully by her bookshelf.

She received a truly lovely charm bracelet from Cecily, who had written that it was spelled to protect against evil enchantments. Hermione put it on, and was happy to learn that it fit. Oraia had sent her the largest box of Chocolate Frogs she could find (she had said so in a note), as well as a soft dark green sweater. Lucretia had gifted her a book titled _Hair Charms for the Truly Hopeless._ "Thanks, Lucretia," Hermione muttered, but laughed.

Abaris, Rufus, and Dorian, inseparable as they were, had gone in together to buy her a handsome quill set, complete with all different feathers as well as a refilling high-quality ink jar. "Wow," she murmured.

To her shock, she saw one from Macnair. She unwrapped it cautiously, and dropped the box; it was full of live beetles. Grimacing, she gingerly took the note lying on top of it.

_Happy Christmas, my Lady._

_From your humble Knight._

She scowled, feeling amused of all things, and promised retribution later.

After eating a quick breakfast down at the lavishly decorated Great Hall, she wandered the cold, drafty castle in her new sweater and some jeans she had brought, carrying one of her new books. She didn't run into anyone, but simply enjoyed looking around at all of the tapestries and paintings. When she reached the fifth floor, unaware of her surroundings, she bumped into a statue of Gregory the Smarmy. Hermione grunted, rubbing her elbow, but noticed an empty space behind the statue where it had shifted. Curious, she moved it fully, and to her surprise saw what must be a rather roomy secret passage. She grinned and walked inside, pulling the statue so that it stood back in front of the entrance.

It was pitch black. "Lumos," she murmured wandlessly. A light appeared, floating in the air in front of her and casting a dull light around her surroundings. She appeared to be in a tunnel, smooth yet unpolished. It was really quite spacious, and she smiled happily at the prospect of an adventure, however small it might be. Wondering where it led, she started off.

The tunnel sloped down, down, down, and a few times she nearly lost her footing, but it leveled out eventually and she was able to just enjoy the walk. It was very long, though, and she had been walking for nearly an hour when it began to slope slightly upward. Then it stopped abruptly, and moving the light closer, she saw there was a ladder. Hermione climbed upward, pushing up some sort of trapdoor at the top, and appeared - in Hogsmeade!

Her eyes watered at the cold sunlight and she climbed out feeling a little weary from the hard walk, but as she closed the trapdoor, her eyes widened in delight at the sight of the village decorated merrily for Christmas. Lights were strung all along the roofs, music was playing (sounding suspiciously like Celestina Warbeck), and gifts were displayed in the windows. In the square was one of the largest Christmas trees she had ever seen.

A pity she hadn't brought any money, she sighed. At least she could window-shop.

She tread laboriously through the snow, shivering, until she stepped onto the paved streets. When she reached the Three Broomsticks, she stepped inside to its comforting warmth, noting there were only a few people inside. Perfect, she thought happily. Hermione automatically reached inside her pocket for a few Sickles, and discovered to her immense surprise that she had a Galleon tucked in there. Strange.

She paid for a Butterbeer and sat at a table next to a window. As she felt the warmth course through her with each swallow, she let her thoughts run.

Eventually it grew dark outside. She left her empty mug on the table and left the warm pub, shivering at the sudden gust of cold wind from outside and the snow that came with it. It was bitingly cold, and she tried to wrap herself in her sweater as best she could as she trudged back to the trapdoor.

The secret passage wasn't much warmer than outside, but at least she was able to get out of the wind. Wandlessly casting another light, she hurried through the tunnel, eventually emerging out into the fifth-floor corridor. Hermione pushed the statue of Gregory the Smarmy back to its original place, climbed down the steps to the dungeons, and entered the chilly common room where a small fire was crackling in the grate. She sighed and headed up to the empty dormitory, collapsing onto her bed where she stared up at the ceiling.

It was a shame she had had to spend Christmas alone, but it had at least helped her to gather her thoughts. Hogsmeade had been nice, she reflected, and the butterbeer had a taste of peppermint in it. Altogether it hadn't been bad, if not the best Christmas. It definitely hadn't been the worst. She shuddered as she thought of Godric's Hollow.

As she shifted, her foot, hanging over the side of the bed, bumped against something hard. Frowning, she rose and located whatever it was her foot had hit, and her heart leapt in surprise. It was another package.

She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. It was very small, about half the size of a shoebox, and plainly wrapped in brown paper, tied with a string. There was no note.

Hermione carefully untied the string and the brown paper fell away to reveal a box, also plain. She pulled off the top, and her heart stopped.

Inside lay the locket.

She picked it up. It was quite clearly just a necklace; it didn't pulse with the faint heartbeat of a Horcrux. Besides, with their link, wouldn't she know if Tom had made another one? Then her eyes widened in understanding. Tom. This was a present from him to her. He had gifted her Slytherin's locket.

She studied it. It really was quite beautiful, she mused, even if bad memories came with it. The locket was made of gold, polished until it gleamed, and a tiny serpentine S, glittering with green stones, lay in the middle. The pendant was also smaller than she remembered, and was much lighter. She wondered if he had performed a Shrinking charm on it. She opened the catch on the locket. There was nothing inside.

After flipping it over in her hands, studying it, checking for spells and enchantments, she finally slipped the long chain over her head, which was so long that the locket fell beneath her chest. The more she gazed at the golden and green necklace, the more beautiful it became.

Then a sudden realization struck her, and she dropped the pendant again. Tom was the last Heir of Slytherin. What if he had gifted it to her… to mark her as his? To mark her as the Lady?

She eyed the locket thoughtfully, then didn't remove it. It really was beautiful, and it held a great significance to him, since it had belonged to his mother, the last of the Gaunts. If he wanted her to wear it, she would wear it happily.

Hermione lay back down on the bed, fingering the pendant. Besides, she mused, she was the Lady now. The Lady Persephone. This would mark her as someone to be feared, to be respected. To be admired.

 _Yes,_ she thought as sleep fell over her. _That would be very nice indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, there you have it.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, and don't forget to comment!
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue. Harry Potter's not mine, I promise you.
> 
> Note: For this chapter, I listened to Take Over by Hidden Citizens and Glitter & Gold by Barns Courtney.

_"Hermione!"_

Hermione was bombarded by a hug – more of a tackle, really – from Oraia. "Oh, Hermione, were you lonely?"

"A bit," she admitted while giving her a tight hug back. "Merlin, it's good to see you."

"Let her breathe, Oraia," Cecily laughed. Oraia let go at once, looking sheepish, and Cecily gave Hermione a much gentler hug. "How was your Christmas?"

"Not bad," Hermione said, smiling. "Your presents were lovely, and I even found a way to visit Hogsmeade!"

"You mean you snuck out of the castle?" Oraia grinned. "You rebel."

Abraxas jumped down from somewhere. "Did you get the butterbeer? It always tastes like cinnamon around Christmas."

"Abraxas!" Hermione laughed, and gave him a quick hug too. She glanced up to see a rafter stretching above them. "Were you up there the whole time? How did you even get up there?"

"Climbed," he shrugged, moving over to stand next to Cecily. "So did you get the butterbeer?"

"Yes, I got the butterbeer," she grinned. "And it did taste like cinnamon, quite delicious really. Merlin, Abraxas," she added, staring at the smooth stone wall. "I don't even see any footholds. You know what, whatever. It's not like I would ever attempt it. Anyway. Enough about me. What did you guys do?"

Oraia shrugged. "I got to see my parents again. They're quite nice, if a bit old-fashioned, but my grandmother…" She made a face, and began mimicking an old woman's voice. "Oraia, dear, when are you going to find a nice young pureblood to settle down with? When I was your age, I was already married and pregnant! And take that horrible makeup off! Back in my day, women didn't flaunt their beauty; they waited for a man to notice it!" She laughed with the rest of them. "I mean, I know she means well, but _Merlin._ What about you, Cily?"

Cecily smiled. "I spent Christmas with Abraxas's family, since mine are on holiday in Paris. They were quite welcoming, actually, and Salazar, his mum can bake! That apple pie…" She stared off into space with a dreamy smile on her face, quite un-Cecily-like, and Hermione's stomach grumbled in response.

"You should've heard them after you left," Abraxas said, grinning. "The way they talked, we're going to be married by March."

Hermione laughed at the sudden blush that appeared on Cecily's face.

"You know what?" she said suddenly. "We should go outside. I don't know that I've stepped foot for any long period of time outside the castle since break started."

 _"That's_ why you're so pale!" Lucretia muttered, approaching them. She raised a perfect eyebrow. "And I'm assuming you haven't touched the book I gave you yet, either, since your hair looks like that."

"Hey!" Hermione exclaimed in mock outrage, giving her a playful shove. "Not everyone's can just ripple down their backs like yours, Lucy."

"Well, I think going outside is an excellent idea," Oraia said. A slow, mischievous smile grew on her face. "I'm afraid I have to agree with Lucretia, 'Mione. You look like Tom."

"I'm not that pale!" Hermione sputtered, as Lucretia and Oraia each took an arm and led her out onto the snowy grounds, bathed in cold sunshine. As they walked through the snow, about mid-thigh deep, she let her thoughts run.

She had been rather lonely. She had thought that maybe she could deal with it, with her friends being gone, by talking to Tom through the soul bond, but it wasn't strong enough for communicating long-distance quite yet. All she felt was a vague idea of what he was feeling, and that was nowhere near enough. Hopefully they could strengthen it in time before school ended, and if not then, when they were searching for the Hallows.

"Who gave you the necklace?" Cecily asked curiously. Hermione jumped, startled from her thoughts, and to her complete embarrassment turned a bright red. She fingered the locket absentmindedly, mentally cursing her face before realizing that was stupid and settling for an attempted smile.

Abraxas laughed. "I think we know the answer to that, Cily. Ten Galleons, 'Mione, pay up."

"I don't owe you anything, you meathead," she scowled, throwing a snowball at him.

He ducked and, of course, reciprocated, and it soon turned into a full-out war, with Hermione, Lucretia, and Oraia on one team and Cecily and Abraxas on the other.

"Hurry, build a barrier!" she called to her teammates. They quickly constructed a snow wall that they hid behind, exposing themselves only long enough to throw a snowball. Cecily and Abraxas did the same, and their forts were soon barraged with throw snow.

Lucretia dodged a particularly large one. "No magic!" she called.

"But it's three against two!" Abraxas protested. "It's not fair."

"We're seventh-year Slytherins who've survived an entire education of prejudice," Oraia said happily. "Nothing's fair."

"She's got a point, you know," Cecily laughed.

Hermione peeked over the wall just long enough to grin at her, and got pelted with a snowball.

"Nice!" Abraxas whooped. "That's five to three now! Your favor, of course, but like our Slytherpuff said, nothing's fair."

"Slytherpuff?" Hermione asked, wiping the freezing snow off of her face. Oraia seemed to be choking on something.

Abraxas shrugged. "I mean, all the symptoms are there."

 _"Symptoms?"_ Oraia exclaimed. "That makes it sound like some sort of disease!"

"Maybe it is," he smirked. "Maybe we'll never know – ack!"

Oraia's snowball hit him right in the face, and she made a show of dusting off her hands. "I believe that's six to three now, our favor, which means we have twice the points you two have. You have anything witty to say to _that?"_

Hermione saw Cecily glance between her boyfriend and the three girls together like an army, and she smiled. "Sorry, Abraxas."

"Wait, what?" he shouted in horror as she left to join them. "You traitor! You can't just leave!"

"Welcome to the team, Cily," Lucretia beamed. "Here's a snowball."

"But you know what that means?" Hermione asked, giving them an evil smile. "We get to team up on Abraxas."

"Hey, wait, we can talk about this," he stammered as they advanced toward him with ready-made snowballs.

"Ready, girls?" Lucretia smirked, tossing hers in one hand.

"Charge!" Hermione shouted.

Abraxas fled.

They raced after him, and it wasn't long before he was bombarded by all of their snowballs thrown at once. He slipped and fell in the snow, and they stood guard over him as he scrambled over to face them, hurriedly brushing snow off of his jeans. "Fine, fine, I yield," he grumbled, raising his hands in surrender. "All right. What's my punishment? Do I have to, I don't know, be your slave for the day or something?"

"While that would be nice," Oraia said thoughtfully. "I think I have something better in mind."

"What?" he asked warily.

"I want you to climb that tree." She pointed over to the massive tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, its limbs stretching over forty feet in the air.

"I'll do you one better," Abraxas grinned. "I'll pay one of you five Galleons if you climb it."

"Ha, in your dreams," Cecily scoffed. "This is _your_ punishment, Abraxas, not a… a wager, or –"

"Done," Hermione said. "But make it twenty."

"Fifteen," Abraxas smiled widely, while Cecily just blinked at her. "But you have to climb to the top."

Hermione gave a short nod. Abraxas flashed a winning smile at her, and she rolled her eyes but made the long trek over to the tree and stared up at it. It loomed over her – no, towered. Her stomach was a bundle of nerves. She could just back out now; surely it wasn't too late to –

No. She would do this.

_Deep breath, Hermione. In. Out._

_I can do this._

She pulled herself onto the first branch. It held. She tested her balance on that before gazing up at the rest of the tree. Merlin, but it was tall.

She cleared her mind, easy after long practice sessions with Tom – _no, you're clearing your mind, don't think about him_ – and made her steady way up the tree. It was fairly easy once she got going, and it was only after reaching thirty feet in the air that she made the mistake of glancing down. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she clung to the tree trunk until it passed, then set her jaw, filled with new resolve. Thirty-one feet, thirty-three… The branches were most definitely smaller than they had been. Much skinnier. She didn't know how much longer they could hold her weight. Thirty-five, thirty-six. She supposed she should climb down now. She had gone far enough, anyhow. She was finally at the top.

Going down was far, _far_ harder than going up, and much more nerve-wracking. Her stomach fluttered every time she lifted her foot off of one of the branches, and her hands were a sweaty mess.

About ten feet from the ground, she finally heard it.

_Crack._

The tree branch beneath her feet broke. She scrambled for balance, but her other foot slipped too, and she plummeted down. Her stomach flew into her throat, and she couldn't think, or breathe, and oh Merlin, this was such a stupid way to die –

And then she landed in someone's arms. Strong arms.

Hermione collapsed in relief, feeling herself go almost limp. She reveled in the fact that she was _alive._ Working to calm her breathing, she felt the terror slowly ease out of her, the tension gradually seep out of her muscles, and she gave a shuddering breath. Alive. Salazar, she was so daft. More than that – what was she _thinking?_

She blinked, recognizing a familiar scent.

Oh.

"Hi," she murmured weakly.

"Hi," Tom said, his face as expressionless as a stone.

He held her until she stopped trembling, and set her down just as her friends came running over.

"Salazar, Hermione, are you all right?!" Cecily shrieked. She pounced on her and gave her a fierce hug, then let go to examine her face. "You're pale. Of course you are. I can get the house elves to bring you some hot chocolate, or –"

"I'm fine, Cily," Hermione promised, as she was smothered by hugs from Lucretia and Oraia as well. She glanced over their shoulders to see Abraxas hanging back, even paler than she surely was.

"It wasn't your fault, Abraxas," she assured him, once they'd let go. She moved over to give him a quick hug as well. "It was my fault for taking the dare. That's what it was, really."

"But you almost _died,_ 'Mione," he muttered, hugging her back. "And I was the one who gave you the dare in the first place."

"Still, it _wasn't_ your fault. I was fine until the tree branch broke. It wasn't like I lost my balance just climbing or something. And besides, I was fine." She tried to give him a reassuring smile.

"I know. Just…" he sighed. "Let me at least pay for a round in Hogsmeade. I know it won't compensate for that experience, or anything, but at least let me do that."

She nodded and smiled, and he looked a little relieved.

"You're sure you're all right?" Lucretia murmured.

"Yes, of course, Lucy," Hermione said. "Just a little shaken up, I guess. I'm fine, really, guys. Thank you, though. Go make a gigantic snowman or something."

They tried to smile, each looking quite reluctant to leave – Oraia even gave her a quick kiss on the cheek! – before trudging off in the snow back through the grounds, Abraxas and Cecily glancing back over their shoulders at her. They finally disappeared over the hill, and Tom waited until they were out of earshot before rounding on her, giving her a death stare to raise chills on her arms. "What in Merlin's bloody name would induce you to do such a thing?"

Hermione gaped. Tom _never_ swore. Not where she could hear, anyway. She swallowed. "Twenty Galleons?" she offered in a weak voice.

Tom just sighed. "You have to think about things, Hermione. What would have happened if you had fallen and died? Everything we have planned – everything – would be in ruins." He lowered his voice. "Not to mention it could cause a time paradox, since you never return to your time or create a way for your future self to arrive here."

She winced. "I… didn't think about that." Maybe she wasn't as Slytherin as she thought. Where was her sense of self-preservation, her sense of caution? All gone out the window, she supposed. Merlin's beard.

She was still walking a little shakily, so he offered his arm, and she took it readily as they trudged uphill through the snow. Her heart was still beating erratically, and she resumed trying to calm herself. _Merlin, if Tom hadn't been there…_

"Tom?" she asked hesitantly. He raised his eyebrows in invitation, and she swallowed. "How did you know where to be?"

He gave her a sideways glance, then stared straight ahead at the castle. "I felt it through the soul bond," he said dryly. "Fear, then determination worthy of a Gryffindor. I had a feeling you were about to get yourself killed."

She grimaced, then blinked in surprise as she felt past worry through the bond, as well as something she couldn't quite place. Worry! He had been worried about her! Tom! She was so shocked that she slipped in the snow and fell against him. He caught her for the second time that day, and she let out an exasperated laugh. "Sorry. For, well, everything really. I didn't think."

"You didn't," he agreed. He appeared to be struggling with himself, then said, "I would be… disappointed… were anything to happen to you."

Hermione gave him a wide smile, trying to ignore how happy that reluctant statement made her. "Just disappointed, Tom?" she teased.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You're blushing."

"I am not!" she protested, growing even redder.

"Except that you are. You're completely crimson."

She tried to scowl, but a smile slipped out, and he gave a small laugh.

o-0-o

Spring arrived, and with it, rain. Lots and lots of rain. Freezing, prolonged, heavy rain. It made for cozy afternoons in the library, but after a while, everyone began to have cabin fever.

"I swear to Merlin," Cecily stormed, "if we have another day like this, I'm going to scream!"

"Let's not do anything drastic, Cily," Hermione said idly, flipping a page of her book. "No need to alarm the professors." A crash of thunder finished her sentence, and she bolted up. "Thunder. Oh, Merlin's beautiful beard, we have thunder!"

She ran around the common room, ignoring everyone's baffled looks, and finally reached her bag, which had been concealed behind a statue of Salazar Slytherin. "Found it. No one go anywhere!"

She sped to the Room of Requirement, waited impatiently for the doors to appear, then slipped inside. Hurrying to the cupboard where she'd hid a crystal vial filled with the Mandrake leaf she'd kept in her mouth, a silver teaspoon of dew that had been untouched by both humans and sunlight for a week, the chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawk Moth, and one of her hairs, she opened the door cautiously, then whooped in delight. The vial was now filled with a blood-red potion. She felt like she could dance.

Her wand in hand, she took the crystal vial and moved over to the center of the room, the thunder still crackling over her head. She drew a deep breath, then placed the tip of her wand over her heart. "Amato Animo Animato Animagus." She'd had to say those cursed words every sunrise and sundown, but no more. Finally! Finally, finally, finally.

She uncapped the vial and drank the potion.

The pain was so intense that she sank to her knees, gritting her teeth. It felt like she was being burned alive, and tears streamed down her face, but then she felt the intense double heartbeat she had read about, and she knew.

Slowly, her vision dimmed, and before her swam the image of a red fox. Hermione began to feel herself shift, and she forced herself to not panic, because it could make her lose control of the transformation, and she would become a mutation or lose her mind entirely, and oh Merlin, this wasn't helping even a little. Her clothes seemed to mold to her body, including the locket, and she shrank and shrank and shrank.

When the pain was over – at last! – the second heartbeat seemed to beat in time to her own. She looked down at herself, and nearly stumbled backward, then lost her balance and fell over because now she had _four_ legs, not two, and dear Merlin, she had paws.

She had done it.

 _I need a mirror. A big one,_ she thought, feeling a mix of terror and elation. A gilded mirror appeared before her, wide and tall, and she let out a yip. A yip!

She was a fox.

Hermione slowly got to her feet – paws? – and examined herself. She was completely covered in silky fur. Her mouth – no, snout – was narrow and elongated, and when she opened her mouth, she saw long canines. Her bushy tail flicked, and she felt like dancing with joy and exhilaration because she was a fox, and she had a tail, and paws, and Merlin's bloody beautiful pants!

She frisked about for a while, then settled down, possessing a strange urge to lick her paws. She resisted, of course – why would she do that? – but her now-amber eyes widened as her large ears twitched. She could hear _everything._

The fly buzzing over in the corner. The sound of people chattering outside the Room, which she had never been able to hear before. Even the wind against the wall, which was so light that it would have been impossible to hear otherwise. She nodded. Of course. She was a fox now, which meant she had inherited the animal's senses. That would explain why everything looked almost colorless, and she couldn't see the red on her at all. Red foxes, from what she could remember, were dichromatic, meaning they could only see two colors, and couldn't see red and green at all. That would explain a lot.

But how to change back? She certainly couldn't remain a fox forever. She thought for a moment, then remembered suddenly the image of a fox that had swum up in front of her vision just before she changed. Could the same thing work for changing back?

Closing her eyes, she tuned out the tiny sounds happening all around her, the pattering of ants on the floor, that awful fly, and pictured herself clearly in her mind. Bushy brown hair, freckles, the dark brown eyes she was so proud of. Slytherin robes, average height, just on the short side, Tom's locket. She kept this image in her mind, but nothing happened.

Hermione scowled, as much as a fox could be said to scowl. It was more of a snarl. _Think, Hermione._ She let out a bark of frustration, then her eyes widened. Of course. She needed her wand.

 _A bloody useless thing wandless magic is, if I can't even transform without it,_ she grumbled as she padded soundlessly over to the corner where she'd transformed. She picked up her wand with her teeth, then pictured the image clearly in her mind. She shot up with a flash of pain, and she was herself again, that second heartbeat beating once again at odds with her own. She whooped again and did a little dance – no one could see her, it was fine! – and pulling her wand out of her teeth, hurried off to the Slytherin common room.

Hermione entered the common room, gasping for breath. She had run all the way down from the seventh floor, and her hand flew to a stitch in her side but she was laughing like an idiot.

Abraxas jumped up out of his seat. "There you are! We were just about to go looking for you. My Lady," he added quickly at a reproachful look from Cecily.

"Oh, don't 'My Lady' me now," Hermione waved a hand, a bit impatiently, then gave an excited grin. "Look!" She closed her eyes, surrendering quickly to the second heartbeat. The fox swam in front of her eyes, and she shrank back to her fox form. Her wand clattered to the floor, and she frisked in front of them, trying to speak but just giving several happy yips.

Cecily sprang up from her seat with a cry of delight. "Oh, Hermione!" She and Oraia both ran over, then got on their knees. "Oh, look at your beautiful red coat!" She flicked her bushy tail, and Oraia put out a hesitant hand to stroke her. Hermione closed her eyes at the soft touch. _Merlin,_ but it felt good. She arched her back in pleasure, flicking her tail again, and then she saw Abraxas hurry over.

"I couldn't see what you'd changed into; the girls were so fast," he laughed. "Salazar, Hermione, that's really excellent! A red fox! That's good, too, since they're common to Scotland. You won't stand out as much as if you'd changed into a stag or something."

Hermione smiled, thinking of Harry's dad, and then the common room door opened. Tom blinked. "Why is there a fox?"

_It's me, Tom._

His eyebrows shot up, and she tried to smile. Apparently the soul bond worked, too! Merlin's beard, this just kept getting better and better! She frisked in front of him.

Tom stared. "It really is you. No normal fox would act like that." He smiled. "So this is your Animagus form."

_It sure is, and I'm going to explore Hogsmeade, and the entirety of the Forbidden Forest, and run through the Scottish Highlands and be one with the mountains._

He gave a short laugh, and the others stared at him. _Let's put the 'be one with the mountains' thought on hold for a bit._

 _Fine,_ she grumbled, and he sat on one of the couches with a slight smile on his face.

She closed her eyes and turned back into her human form – it was hurting less and less each time now – and grabbed her bag and her wand from where she'd dropped them, relaxing on the chair closest to the fire while the thunder continued to roll. "Let's see… essay for Merrythought – Merlin, the woman loves them – practical for Dumbledore, and another essay for Slughorn. Gracious." She let her gaze wander over to the window view of the Black Lake, jumping as a mermaid swam by. It always startled her.

_I'm a fox. An actual fox!_

_Adaptability and cleverness._ She glanced over at Tom to see him writing his essay with a barely perceptible smile. _It fits._

She blushed, Merlin hang her, and turned her gaze quickly back to her essay, but she couldn't focus. A fox! She felt like skipping.

Abraxas was right; red foxes were common to the Highlands, so she wouldn't stand out, and they were small and agile. Also, if she remembered correctly, they had night vision. _That_ would come in handy. Silent and deadly hunters, but also playful and curious and clever, relying on their quick minds rather than bodily strength.

It was perfect.

She grimaced. She needed to focus on her essay and spend less time gushing about her new form; Tom's end of the soul bond felt amused. She gave a short nod and attacked her essay with renewed vigor, not noticing the smirks that Abraxas and Cecily were sharing behind her.

o-0-o

The end of the school year was approaching quickly, much too quickly for Hermione's liking. Of course, it was still a few months away, but after those few months their search for the Hallows would begin. She and Tom had led countless meetings with the Knights, formulating the perfect plan. Through their analyses, they had realized that the Ministry was really quite fragile. All it would take was one push, and it would be in their hands.

They just had to make sure that said push wouldn't fail.

There were, of course, numerous ways this could go horribly, horribly wrong. As in, get-thrown-in-Azkaban-in-the-maximum-security-cell-kind of wrong. They were planning for every possible thing that could go wrong, but it was still nerve-wracking.

Thankfully, the Knights – with the exception of Macnair and Dolohov, who still refused to even make eye contact with her – the Knights all had excellent ideas. Being in Slytherin had its advantages, it seemed, and they all had a good head on their shoulders. Winston Carrow cared a bit too much about the possibility of being poisoned, and Dorian Nott was a bit of a dreamer, but everyone had their faults, and they were looking to be the making of an excellent team, or group of followers, or whatever. Hermione liked team better.

It still scared her. She was about to take down the _Ministry of Magic._ The Ministry! Yes, they were a bunch of greedy, bribe-taking, selfish fools, but they were still the bloody government! She, a seventeen-year-old girl, a girl who was still awkward around guys and was trying to find her place in the world, only of age as of September, was going to take down the Ministry of Magic. Merlin's beard.

Hermione sighed to herself. She really needed to work on her self-pep talks.

She finished up her essay – another one for Merrythought! Where was the actual practice? – and put her ink bottle and quill back into her bag. Her homework all done, she stared into the dying fire. It was late, and the house elves wouldn't be around to stoke it until morning. Not that she cared. The less work for house elves, the better. Still, it could have been warmer.

She rested her head on the back of the couch. The whole Lady Persephone thing was tiring. Yes, it felt good to be in a position of power, however small that power was, and yes, Tom did most of the leading, but she was still planning, and organizing, and working to bring down the government, and it was _hard._ Much harder than she'd thought it would be. And they still had to search for the Hallows.

 _So, if you think about it, this is the easy part._ She sighed again and began to make her way upstairs, but changed her mind and sat back down on the couch, taking out a sheet of parchment to make a list. Lists helped her cope. They were organized, and tidy, and let her get all of her thoughts down on paper. Today, though, she couldn't think. Her mind was running on overdrive. And that stupid second heartbeat wasn't helping things!

"Merlin's pants," she muttered. She huffed. _Tom?_

_You're still awake._

_Yeah, I am._ She rubbed her eyes. _I've been doing that stupid essay for Merrythought._

_Ah. That one._

_Yeah…_

_Completely useless topic. Did you finish it?_

_Yeah, just now. I can't think._ She hesitated. _Tom, are you nervous?_

_About what?_

_Everything, I guess. The Ministry, establishing a new order, all of it. The Hallows… What if the Hallows don't work? What if we don't become immortal after all, and I miscalculated? Or what if we do become immortal, but they arrest us for conspiring against the Ministry and we get thrown in Azkaban, and we can't die because we have to live forever? Or-_

_Relax. None of that will happen._

He sounded so confident, so assured, that she gaped in the semidarkness. _How do you know?_

_Because we cannot afford for it to be otherwise. We'll work it out, and you will get your revenge on the Ministry, and I can attain the power I want, and we will both live forever, or as long as we want to, and it'll be fine._

_Are you sure?_

_Completely._

_But, just say that –_

_Hermione._

_Yes?_

_It will be fine. I can promise you that. All right?_

She sighed and nodded. _All right._

 _But,_ he continued, _if it isn't, we will escape from Azkaban, because I am Lord Voldemort and you are Lady Persephone and we will not be chained up like lowly criminals, and I will become an Animagus as well, and we will run free through the Highlands and become one with the mountains, as you called it, and create a plan to exact our revenge, and either way you will get what you want. Does that sound acceptable?_

Hermione laughed, beginning to feel better. _Yes. Yes, it does._ She felt his amusement through the soul bond, as well as the attempt at comfort he seemed so unfamiliar with, and she smiled. _Thank you._

He gave a short nod. _Get some rest._

_Okay._

His end seemed to relax, and she knew he was drifting off.

She gazed into the fire again. She knew she'd changed. A year ago, she would never have thought she'd confide her deepest fears with the man who would one day destroy her world. The man who had destroyed her childhood because of his lust for power, who had made her best friend's life a living nightmare. She'd never have thought she would team up with this man to take down the Ministry that had also ruined her childhood, albeit in a different way, the Ministry that was more of a stepping stool for pureblood supremists to get what they wanted, rather than a government to protect and guide their world. She'd never have thought she'd willingly get Marked, or join the students who would have been the future Death Eaters if not for her. She'd never have thought that she'd grow a _friendship_ with him, much less feelings, feelings that had blossomed into something more. Because she liked him, really, truly _liked him,_ liked the man she'd watched him become.

Because he'd changed too. Hermione could see that. When she'd first met him, he had been cold and arrogant and cruel, every bit the Tom Riddle she had expected. But as they'd gotten closer, she'd watched the wall he'd built around himself crumble brick by brick, watched his defenses tumble, and she couldn't help but think it was because of _her._ He was protective of her, and had come to her rescue multiple times this past year, and had avenged her when she'd been almost killed, and had caught her when she'd fallen. He bantered with her, and comforted her, and debated with her, and _challenged_ her, and willingly spent time with her, which he had done with no one else. He made sacrifices for her. He had completely abandoned his old plans, the plans he had been formulating ever since he had first stepped foot in Hogwarts, because he had realized that if they worked together, they could accomplish so much more. He _trusted_ her, and she trusted him, and he still had difficulty expressing himself in a way that didn't seem distant, but he was getting there, and that was enough for her.

And she couldn't help but think, couldn't help but wonder, that she might be able to save him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you enjoyed! So so so sorry for the extremely late update, I really don't have an excuse… Do you guys like her Animagus form? I researched about a billion different spirit animals, and would find one that I liked only to discover it was only native to America, and not Scotland at all. Speaking of…
> 
> Happy Independence Day, to the Americans reading! *waves a flag and hits someone in the face* Fireworks and burgers and yay!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and don't forget to vote! I mean review! But vote too! If you're American, anyway. And voting time isn't until November. But vote in November, and review now! (If you review, I'll give you a virtual burger.) :)
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me. As if!
> 
> Note: I listened to Crown by Camila Cabello and Awaken by Valerie Broussard. Also, the theme to The Punisher. It is _awesome._

"I've been thinking," Hermione said.

"Really?" Cecily affected shock. "What a surprise! Do tell us more."

"Ha, ha, very funny. Anyway, I've been thinking, and noticed that we have no way of knowing any of the Ministry's security procedures, or what defense mechanisms they've put in place, or what laws they're planning to vote on, nothing. We're just charging in blind. I mean, that's crucial information."

She looked around at the Knights gathered around the meeting table in the Room, joined today by the girls (not official Knights, but they still had some very clever ideas), and shrugged lightly. "Well? Anyone?"

"What if we put someone inside the Ministry, my Lady, like a spy of some kind?" Dorian suggested.

"Again, though," said Abaris, "we'll need to know more inside information before we can pull a full-on deception like that."

"An excellent idea, though, and one we'll need to file away for later," Hermione smiled.

Dorian sat up a little straighter.

Rufus seemed to be thinking. "We could put the Imperius on one of the Ministry officials, or use Legilimency or something similar."

"Mmm, probably not, not if we want him to go back to his job," Oraia said thoughtfully. "The Ministry's been able to detect Imperius Curse use on people since 1717."

"Really?" Rufus gaped. "Then why did so many wizards in Grindelwald's war claim the Imperius?"

"Bribes," Abraxas grinned. "You pay the Ministry, they keep their mouths shut."

"That's probably true, actually," Hermione said disgustedly. "I mean, that's why we're taking them down in the first place, isn't it? They're just as corrupt as Grindelwald's fanatics ever were."

"I would say more," Tom said quietly. "At least Grindelwald's followers had something to believe in. The Ministry work for themselves."

They were quiet as they all considered this, but then Winston spoke up. "We need to contact someone who is extremely familiar with the Ministry, but doesn't agree with their beliefs."

"I doubt that someone who works for the Ministry will want to help take it down; they'll be out of a job," Rufus began, but Winston cut him off excitedly.

"No, not someone who works for the Ministry, someone who is _familiar_ with the Ministry!"

"Like a reporter," Abaris said, nodding. "Someone who has a lot of gossip on everyone."

"Well, if you want gossip, you should talk to Irma Gamp," Lucretia said. "She's the bartender of The Three Broomsticks, as I'm sure you know, and she knows everything that happens, probably before the _Daily Prophet_ even prints it."

"I'm not terribly fond of her," Oraia grimaced. "She's rather… oh, how do I say this?"

"Raucous?" Dorian offered.

"That works," she laughed. "But she would be an excellent contact. The trouble is, I'm not sure she'll cooperate."

"Leverage," Hermione murmured.

"What?"

"Leverage. We need leverage on her. Then she'll have to cooperate."

They stared at her as they worked this idea through their heads. "Brilliant," Winston said finally. "But how do we get some?"

Cecily smiled. "Just leave that to me."

o-0-o

That Saturday, during the scheduled Hogsmeade weekend, Cecily, Hermione, Lucretia, and Oraia stopped by The Three Broomsticks. Cecily was running everything she planned to say through her mind. She wasn't entirely sure this would work – she had never tried anything like this before – but she did want to work for the _Daily Prophet_ as a reporter, so perhaps the practice would come in handy.

It was just the four of them, since she had learned that people in general were much less wary of a group of girls than a group of boys. She didn't much like this stereotype, but it did have its uses. Like today. She squared her shoulders. She would _not_ fail.

The day was pleasant, but warm enough that they had all shrugged off their robes before stepping inside the tavern. A large fire was still being stoked in the fireplace in the back, giving off a fair amount of heat. Cecily wished she could just douse it. It looked like a lot of customers would be grateful.

They stepped up to the counter, where Madam Irma was pouring drinks for a few of her clients, roaring with laughter at some of their off-color jokes. Her hair was dyed an unnatural shade of red. Cecily grimaced but cleared her throat and put on her best smile.

Madam Irma finally turned toward them. "Yes, what can I get you, dears?" She had the air of someone who was talking to a child.

"I'd like four Butterbeers, please," Cecily said, smiling painfully. She would do this.

The curvy woman nodded shortly and poured the drinks into four mugs, the tops overflowing with foam. Well. However much she didn't like her, the drinks were fantastic.

She placed four Galleons on the counter – it was a bit much, but maybe it would put her in a good mood – and brought the Butterbeers over to a table close by.

The plan was rather simple, really. They sat down, drinking very slowly so they would last longer, not speaking. Hermione was fiddling with her wand a bit. Lucretia was combing out her hair. Oraia had a small crease between her eyebrows.

"And now we wait," Hermione said quietly.

"And now we wait," Cecily agreed.

She strained her ears to hear any snatches of conversation over the loud customers at the bar and failed completely. They stayed at that table a long time, even finishing their Butterbeers, and by the time it was low afternoon, they were extremely bored but had gained a lot of useless gossip, gossip that had nothing to do with what they were listening for. Finally, the loud, drunk clients at the bar left and Cecily smiled. "Showtime."

She staggered up to an empty seat at the bar, hiccupping violently. "Hi!"

Madam Irma laughed loudly. "Are you drunk, honey? You're a bit underage, don't you think?"

She hiccupped again, then laughed. "Me? I'm not… I'm not… not… drunk! You're silly!" She collapsed into giggles, and Madam Irma chuckled.

"Here, have another one! It's on me."

Cecily stared at her with wide eyes. "No! No, _you_ should… should… is it hot in here? Ooh, you know… you know what? _You_ should get a drink for _yourself!_ " She giggled uncontrollably.

Madam Irma laughed uproariously, banging a fist on the counter. "You know what, I think I will! What's your name, child?" She poured out a mug of firewhiskey, and Cecily hiccupped.

"Jane… I think. I forget from time to time. Get it?" She giggled again. She cast a glance to the side to see Hermione, Lucretia, and Oraia doubled over in silent laughter. "Well? Are you… are you gonna _drink_ it?"

Madam Irma shrugged. "Might as well, I suppose! Workday's almost over." She downed the entire mug in one swallow, and slowly her cheeks grew red. "Blimey, i' really is hot in 'ere, innit?"

 _Wow, she's a lightweight,_ Cecily thought with glee. She gave another fake giggle. "I told you!"

Madam Irma looked tipsy. Really tipsy. Cecily was completely sober, as she'd had only had one Butterbeer. Of course, she would never have thought that someone could get drunk off of a single mug of firewhiskey. This would way work to their advantage. The woman drank more, and Cecily smiled.

"You know?" she said slowly. "You're _really_ pretty."

"Aw, ya really think so?" Madam Irma asked loudly. "Yer real kind."

"I mean, _surely_ you have to have a boyfriend. Ooh, are you… are you…" Cecily gave a fake sway. "Are you _married?_ "

"Naw. _But…_ " Madam Irma leaned in close. "I'm not supp… supp… I was told not to say anythin', but yer a real nice girl, ya know that? I'm sure it wouldna hurt." She drained another mug.

"Ooh, tell me, tell me!"

The woman gave a violent hiccup. "Ya have to promise not ta tell _innyone_ , ya un'erstan'?"

"Oh, I promise, I promise. Cross my heart!" Cecily giggled. "Tell me!" _All lies, but she doesn't need to know that._

"Well." Madam Irma rested both of her elbows on the counter. "I do have a boyfrien', acshally." She hiccupped.

Cecily squealed. "Really? Who is it, who, who?"

Madam Irma gave a huge grin at her eagerness. "I'm just seein' him on the side, like. See, we're…" Her voice lowered to what was almost a whisper. "We're not _really_ suppose' ta be seein' each other."

 _Here we go. Come on, coax it out of her._ Cecily frowned. "What… what do you mean?"

"See… 'e's married."

Oh.

_Oh._

OH.

So it was like that. Cecily felt like clutching imaginary pearls.

"Well," she said carefully, "do you love him?"

"Why, I think so!" The woman was clearly quite drunk at this point, and it was obvious that she had wanted to confide in someone for quite some time. The words were just spilling out of her. "He's funny, an' sweet, and very han'some. An', I mean, he works for the Min'stry, so 'e can't be _all_ bad, ya know?"

But Cecily had frozen. A married Ministry official, having an affair…with a barkeep?

This was it.

She swayed slightly, then said, putting alarm in her voice, "I think I'm gonna be sick!" Madam Irma looked shocked and disgusted, and showed no surprise when she ran out of the tavern.

The three girls joined her outside, and they ran over to her, doubled over in laughter. "Oh, Cecily," said Hermione, gasping, "that was brilliant!"

"Best performance I've ever seen, that's for certain!" Lucretia agreed, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

"It wasn't that good," Cecily laughed. Then she remembered what she'd heard and sobered up. "Did you hear what she said?"

"It was too loud," Oraia said. "I even tried a few charms, but she was too far away for me to hear without attracting notice."

"Well, it's even better – or worse, it depends on how you look at it – anyway, it's worse than we thought," said Cecily. "Not only is she the local source of gossip, but get this: she's having an affair…with a married Ministry official."

"What?" Lucretia gaped. "He's married?"

"Wow, that's…" Hermione trailed off, a crease appearing in between her eyebrows.

"He's married," Cecily said grimly. "His poor wife."

"But this is perfect!" Hermione said. "Don't get me wrong, that's wrong in pretty much every form, extremely wrong, but if he's a Ministry official, then he'll know the ins and outs of the Ministry, because those are things they teach even the lowest ranking employees. As for Madam Irma… well, she'll know everything that's happening around here even before the _Prophet_ prints it. Not only that, politics is a very unstable business. With the leverage we have, we can be sure they'll stay in line. And we won't even feel bad about it, because they're breaking marriage vows!" She gave a delighted laugh. "Now all we need is the proof."

"But how do we get that?" Oraia asked. "We can't exactly hang around the tavern day and night, waiting for her to slip something."

" _We_ can't," Hermione said. Her eyes lit up as an idea seemed to occur to her. "We need a recorder."

"A what?"

"It's a Muggle object. Do they even have these in this time?"

"What do you mean, this time?" Lucretia frowned.

"Nevermind," Hermione said quickly. "It records sound, and… um… it's sort of a black rectangle? Actually, no, it'll probably be bigger. Do they even have these? Yeah, it'll probably be much bigger than it was, er, will be."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Cecily asked. "You're acting really strange."

"Just nevermind, I'll take care of it," she said, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. "I've got a plan."

They stared at her.

"Anyway," Hermione said, clearing her throat, "I can get the proof to you by Wednesday or so, and we can act on it in a week."

"Sounds fantastic," Oraia said. "Shall we join the boys for dinner?"

"Dinner? Oh, lunch, right," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Sorry, I suppose I'm kind of out of it today. Excuse me, please."

She actually ran off to Merlin knew where, and Cecily found herself sharing a suspicious glance with Lucretia and Oraia.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Oraia asked.

"We are most definitely thinking what you're thinking," Lucretia said, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder.

"Time to find out what Hermione's hiding," Cecily said.

o-0-o

_I need to get a hold on myself,_ Hermione thought frantically. _I almost ruined everything!_

All these lies were really taking a toll on her. It was hard enough hiding her blood status from everyone except her closest friends here, but to pretend like she was from another era, an era which she knew close to nothing about except for various events in World War II… well. It was even more difficult than it sounded.

She sighed deeply and ducked into an alley, making sure no one saw her before Apparating to a nearby field.

 _This had better work._ She pulled out her wand, as this would be a pretty difficult bit of magic.

"Accio wire recorder," she said. And sat.

Around five minutes later, a huge, bulky box came flying toward her. She rolled to the side and barely missed getting crushed by the enormous thing. Thankfully, it landed straight up and had very minimal damage to it. Hermione approached it, fascinated.

It was a rather curious object, extraordinarily vintage-looking – although this was a modern model for this time, of course – and looked incredibly difficult to use. Hermione wasn't technologically gifted, even a little. Back in her time, voice recorders were small black boxes called cassette players, and had labelled buttons that told you exactly what to press and why. This…

It was a very strange. It was box-shaped at the back but the front sloped down to show a variety of knobs and buttons. The speakers were at the front in vertical black stripes, with two knobs on either side. One switched from record to listen, one changed the volume, one changed the output, whatever that meant, and another changed the tone. Whatever that was. And loads of knobs at the top, with functions that she had no idea how to use.

"Brilliant," she muttered. "Accio instruction manual?"

Nothing happened, and she sighed.

Perhaps one of the Knights might be able to help. She knew that a couple, despite being purebloods, were interested in Muggle technology, much like Arthur Weasley. Maybe they would know how to work it?

She performed a Shrinking Charm and stuck it in her pocket. At least it wasn't quite as bulky this way. Disapparating, she appeared back in the alley she had left, running into her friends again.

"There you are!" Cecily said, worry written all over her face. "Where have you been?"

"I told you guys, I have a plan," Hermione said. "Look." She pulled out the wire recorder, perfectly tiny, and the three girls gasped over it.

"What even is it?" Oraia asked.

"A wire recorder. It's a Muggle object that records sound. It looks pretty difficult to use, but I was thinking this would be the perfect way to get the proof that we need."

"Alphard is really interested in strange Muggle objects like that," Lucretia said. "He has been ever since we were children."

"Perfect," Hermione said. "Let's go talk to him."

o-0-o

"There you are, my Lady, it's all set up," Alphard said happily. "It's pretty simple actually, once you get the hang of it. See, you put this wrapped up wire here, then you take one end and wrap it around this cylinder here, then press this knob, and there you go! Music!"

The cylinder at the top was whirring, and a song started playing out of the speakers. The old-fashioned swing music made her smile. Alphard pressed another button, and it turned off. "And then to record, you just press this switch and leave it running. It'll only record for a certain amount of time, though, but it can hold up to an hour. This thing's a real killer diller! I mean, look at all these buttons!"

"A what?" Hermione laughed.

"A killer diller," Lucretia said, as if it was obvious. "You must know what that means. Also, Alph, you don't have to be such an eager beaver about it. It's just a weird Muggle contraption."

"But look at it! The things Muggles come up with. I mean, I know we're more powerful than them, but they're so inventive."

Yep. Exactly like Arthur Weasley.

_This odd 1940s slang. Killer diller. Eager beaver. What in Merlin's name even is a killer diller?_

"Well, thank you, Alphard," Hermione grinned. "This is exactly what I need."

"Anytime, my Lady," he smiled.

o-0-o

It was Wednesday, and Hermione was sneaking off of the school grounds in her Animagus form.

Alphard had schooled her completely in how to use the wire recorder, and she was currently carrying it, with a Shrinking Charm on it, of course, inside a small disguised pouch that was hanging around her neck. She made her way through the wards – they didn't recognize her as a student when she was transformed into a fox – and was soon off of the school grounds.

Cecily's information had been invaluable, and was the perfect thing they needed. She felt a bit bad about doing this to Madam Irma – however much she disliked her, she still didn't really deserve it – but every time she started to feel a little guilty, she would remember that the woman was in an adulterous affair. That always spurred her motivation.

She padded soundlessly down the cobbled Hogsmeade streets, keeping her eyes open for The Three Broomsticks. She had planned this little excursion for nightfall, as people wouldn't be at all surprised to see a fox poking around the village, and her fox form provided some excellent night vision. Sometimes her overlarge ears would perk up at the sound of a mouse, but she forced herself to focus. She would not cave in to her fox instincts. Eating mouse was just… no.

Hermione approached the closed inn and looked up to the second story. Madam Irma would probably be living up there so she could have easy access to the bar below. Thankfully the window was open, so that would make things much easier. Perhaps it aired out her room better or something. She thought for a moment. How best to do this?

Her wand was also in her pouch, and she took it in her teeth – very carefully, as she had some rather sharp canines – and returned to her human form. She nonverbally unlocked the door using Alohomora and slipped inside.

It was silent as the grave, the only sound being a steady dripping from one of the firewhiskey kegs. She twisted the keg closed, since it was bothering her, and performed a Disillusionment Charm on herself before returning to her fox form and creeping soundlessly up the stairs. That was another advantage of being a fox: they were silent hunters.

She reached the door where Madam Irma was sleeping; she'd known immediately that it was her apartments because of the loud snores she could hear from all the way out here. She again changed to her human form, unlocked the door, and changed to her fox form again, padding inside. It surprised her that the woman had her doors locked; from what she understood of this time, almost everyone kept their doors unlocked because they were more trusting than they would be later. Perhaps the woman was just paranoid.

Madam Irma's snores masked all, if any, sounds she made in her virtually silent fox form. She made her way over to the living room, then changed her mind and went to the woman's bedroom, setting the wire recorder carefully on the dresser and concealing it with a variety of charms she had mastered while on the run with Harry and Ron. Pushing past the pang of sadness, she put a tracker charm on it, spelling the record button to go off if someone besides Madam Irma walked into the room. They might have to do a few tries before they got any proof, but once they did, they would have her.

And she was completely certain that the woman would not comply with their plans any other way.

Locking the doors behind her and making her way back through the tavern, she emerged into the pleasant night air, her fox instincts reacting positively to being out under the night sky again. Apparently foxes didn't like being closed up. _Who would?_

It was only once she was safe inside her bed that she finally relaxed.

o-0-o

On Friday evening, her tracking charm alerted her to a male presence in Madam Irma's living room.

"Do we go now?" asked Winston.

"Not yet," Hermione said. "We'll wait until Saturday afternoon."

"Saturday?" Rufus balked. "Why don't we just go in now and storm the place? We won't even need proof, and we can catch them offguard!"

"Patience," said Hermione. "Trust me on this."

Winston looked like he was about to argue, but the sight of Tom's raised eyebrow made him snap his mouth shut with a clack.

On Saturday morning, she again Disillusioned herself and retrieved the wire recorder. When she played the recording back for them, there was a gold mine of a conversation. People, she knew, tended to talk freely in places they felt safe, and now they had all the proof they would ever need. She smiled.

Time for Step 1 of Operation Take Down the Ministry.

_Here goes nothing._

That afternoon, after finishing their weekend assignments, Hermione, Tom, and the Knights all took a trip to Hogsmeade. She and Tom were the only ones to enter The Three Broomsticks, but the Knights waited outside in case something went wrong. It very well could. This could all be some elaborate scheme and they were about to find themselves expelled, or sent to Azkaban, or who knew what else.

Or she was just being paranoid. That was the more likely situation.

Better keep one hand on her wand just in case.

Tom opened the door for her and they entered the tavern, which was again stifling hot, a large fire roaring in the grate. "For Merlin's sake," Hermione muttered, "it's summer!"

From the look on Tom's face, it seemed he agreed.

Madam Irma, for some reason, wasn't tending the bar today. Maybe it was her day off, or she was sleeping late because of her company the night before. Hermione blushed slightly at the thought and forced it out of her mind, fingering the now-tiny wire recorder she'd shrunk to fit in her pocket.

They made their way over to the stairs at the side, but the barkeep blocked their path. "You can't go in there," she said. "That's off-limits, that is."

"Oh, is it?" Hermione said. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know!" She gave a girlish giggle. "We were just wantin' to explore a little, that's all. I'm sure you won't mind, right?" She widened her eyes dramatically. "Girl to girl, you know how dreadful our curiosity is sometimes."

The barkeep grinned at her. "It really is, that's for sure! Just explore, and that's all?"

"That's all, cross my heart and hope to die."

"Well, I'm sure the Madam won't mind. And between you and me," she lowered her voice to a near-whisper, "it's probably fine if you want to do a little more than explore, if you know what I mean." The girl winked at her, her eyes flicking over to Tom, and Hermione cleared her throat loudly, feeling awkward.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said once she'd gotten herself together again. "Thank you!"

"No problem, as long as you get a Butterbeer on your way out!" The barkeep smiled at her and disappeared behind the counter.

"Well, that was awkward," Hermione said, breathing a sigh of relief. Tom just looked amused.

They climbed the rickety stairs up to the top floor, the ancient wood creaking under their every step. Once they reached the top, she saw a hallway that would lead up to Madam Irma's apartments, as well as a small room over at the front with windows that overlooked the street, holding only a few tables that were all empty.

Hermione paused in front of Madam Irma's door. "I don't know that I can do this."

"It's simply acting," Tom said. "You're playing the part of someone who isn't really you. In your case, Lady Persephone. You will be the face of our political power, as you know. But it you feel uncomfortable with it, I can do most of the talking."

"Just acting," she mused. "Sure, I guess that's true." She thought for a moment, inwardly chiding herself. During the war, she had stepped out of her comfort zone in more ways than she would have thought possible, risking her life multiple times to save those of her friends. She had almost died on multiple occasions, and now she was backing out of a situation that would give them invaluable information because she was _uncomfortable?_

Just acting.

"I'll do it," she said firmly. Tom gave a short nod and touched his hand to the doorknob, unlocking it wandlessly. The door opened to reveal a startled woman frozen in the act of drinking a cup of tea.

Well, if it was just acting… Enter Lady Persephone. Exeunt Hermione Granger.

"Hello," Hermione said. "Madam Irma, right?"

"Get out of my apartment."

"Oh, don't be like that. Tom, could you close the door, please?"

He did, and moved over to stand beside her.

She smiled. "Allow me to introduce myself." Tom had told her that it would be all right to use their regular names, since this woman would be completely loyal once they were through. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"And the young man is?"

"Tom Riddle," Tom said, sounding bored.

"Well, I must say you pick good company, even if you are a Mudblood."

Hermione flinched at the word, then decided enough was enough. "I'm a pureblood, actually," she snapped. "We've been in the background for a while, and we may not be one of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' but we're still descended from one of the Four."

"Fascinating. Now tell me what you're doing in my living room before I kill you."

Oh, interesting. So not only was she committing adultery, she was a killer, too. Very interesting.

"Well," Hermione said sweetly, "I just wanted to ask you about your boyfriend. Is he doing well?"

The woman made a sound like a cornered animal and bolted up from her seat, her face growing red, then stark white. Her eyes darted nervously between the two of them. "How'd you know about him?"

"You just confirmed it for us," Tom said. "I take it you're not extraordinarily skilled at keeping secrets."

"Now, I take it this is a bit of gossip you don't want to get out to the public," said Hermione. _Slowly, now. Cornered animals are dangerous and people are just the same._ "Especially with him being a Ministry official and all."

"How'd you know _that?_ " Madam Irma pulled her wand out and Summoned theirs, her expressions a mixture of fury and terror. "Now, I'm warning you, don't come any closer! I will kill you. I've done it before."

_Fascinating._

"Oh, we're not here to hurt you!" Hermione said. "Far from it." She pulled out the wire recorder. "See this?"

The woman squinted. "What in Merlin's bloody name is that?"

"It's a wire recorder. Wonderful little Muggle object, and actually not all that little." Hermione placed it on the ground. "Engorgio." The wire recorder grew to its normal size.

Madam Irma, however, was not staring at the recorder but at her. "You just did that without a wand. _How?_ "

Hermione laughed and Summoned her wand back. The woman was now staring at her with stark terror. "It's easy, really." She tossed her wand back to Madam Irma. "Now, like I said, this is a wire recorder. You can record sounds with it, and also play them back to listen to later. Now, I just happened to overhear your conversation with my friend at the bar a few days back. Really not information you want to reveal when you're drunk." The woman went even whiter than before, if that was possible. "Might want to rethink your life choices."

"Ha! Well you need proof, sweetheart, and I doubt you used that nifty little thing in a crowded bar."

Hermione bristled. _Sweetheart._ Ugh. Tom placed a hand on her shoulder and she continued, emboldened. "Well, maybe not, but there are other places you can use them." Hermione pressed the button at the top, and Madam Irma's conversation with her married Ministry boyfriend played from the speaker. She could hear them clearly, whispering various sweet nothings to each other, and – "Oh, I just caught that. Roger, isn't it? The name of your little affair buddy?"

Madam Irma stilled, and Hermione stopped the recording, shrinking the recorder back to the size of a tennis ball. Leaning against Tom and tossing it carelessly in her hand, she smiled at the curvy woman. "Now. With how desperate the _Daily Prophet_ is for news at the moment, not having any attention-grabbing headlines now that the war is over, I can guarantee that you don't want this little conversation to go out to the public. This is the clearest proof you can get nowadays, besides a direct confession. This is most certainly a…" Hermione searched for the right word, "a scandal… that you don't want revealed. That I can assure you." _Lady Persephone._ "Politics are unpredictable at the moment, even more than usual, and if something like this slips out, why, your dear Roger might lose all public respect, not to mention any hope of running for office." Good, she had her now. "And since you're the unfortunate accomplice, I expect, with how easy it is to rile people up after a long war, that you will lose a significant amount of business. It might be enough to close this place down."

"What do you want?" She looked cornered. Trapped. "I can give you free Butterbeers, whenever you'd like, or free firewhiskey, even! You're underage, but I can make an exception!"

Tom and Hermione shared a smile. "No," Hermione said. "We want something a bit more, actually."

"What?"

"We want you to spy on your affair buddy for us."

"What?" Madam Irma looked shocked, outraged. "I can't do that! He'd leave me for good!"

"Not if you're clever about it," Hermione shrugged. "Don't let him know you're spying. Work it into natural conversation, then tell us what he says. This will be a regular thing, by the way."

"What do you want me to ask him?" Irma hissed.

"Ministry procedures, guidelines, safety precautions, employee regulations, anything you can glean from him. I want all of it."

The woman spat at them.

Tom laughed. "Very intelligent."

Irma scowled deeply. Every inch of her looked ready for a fight. "You'll regret this. How – how dare you?"

"It's called a hustle, _sweetheart,_ " Hermione smiled. Tom laughed again. "Oh, right, I almost forgot. Come here."

Irma eyed them warily, but approached. Very cautiously.

Hermione sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you, you know. I want to make an Unbreakable Vow."

The woman drew back. "An Unbreakable… I could die!"

"Not if you follow the rules," Hermione said. "This will ensure you don't betray us. Hold out your hand."

She did, and Hermione took it. Tom wandlessly Summoned his wand back, and Irma flinched. He placed the tip at their joined hands.

"Now, Irma," Hermione said, "do you swear that you will never betray us?"

"I do," Irma muttered. A thin line of gold crossed their hands.

"Do you swear that you will act as a spy, gleaning information from Roger, to the best of your ability?" It was good to be specific.

"I do."

"Do you swear that you will address Tom, and me, with the respect that each of us deserves? This will include," Hermione racked her mind for Tom's requirements, "addressing us as 'my Lord' and 'my Lady' respectively and deferring to us? Also deferring to the Knights, but less so."

" _What?_ "

"Do you swear?"

"Yes, I swear, but what in Merlin's name -?"

The gold bands vanished, leaving the now-familiar crisscrossed marks on the backs of their hands. "There," Hermione said. She smiled up at Tom. "Yeah, that wasn't all that hard."

"I told you," he said, smiling back.

Hermione turned back to the stunned woman. "Thank you for your cooperation."

They left the apartment, and as soon as the door was closed, Hermione leaned back against the wall, cast _Muffliato_ , and rested the back of her head against the doorframe. "Merlin's beard."

"You were excellent," Tom said. "Absolutely excellent."

She sighed deeply, then smiled. "You really think so?"

"Of course."

"I don't think I've ever done anything that stressful since the war. I'm getting out of practice, I suppose."

"There will be many more to come, I can assure you," Tom laughed. He placed his hand at the small of her back and they made their way down the creaking stairs. "Your 'hustle' skills, as you called it, will be refined and polished."

"Merlin, I sure hope so," Hermione said. "Oh, right, I promised that girl I'd get a Butterbeer. I'll pay; I'm feeling generous."

Tom's lips quirked.

o-0-o

"Well, we did it," Hermione grinned, once the two of them stepped outside. "She was a little harder to convince than we thought, but we managed it. You all want a Butterbeer?"

A few minutes later, all ten of them were seated around a table, foaming mugs of Butterbeers in front of them. Hermione cast _Muffliato._

"You did it!" Rufus laughed. "You actually did it!"

"Always the tone of surprise," Hermione said, but she grinned.

"Raise a glass to freedom," Abraxas grinned, "and the Revolution!"

"To freedom and the Revolution!" they shouted, clinking their glasses together.

"Good gracious," Hermione said. "Abraxas, you've been reading too many books on the American War of Independence."

"What? They're brilliant!" He winked at her. "Especially the fighting parts."

She shook her head, smiling fondly. "I'd never think that you, being English, would like American history."

"The States have a very rich history, 'Mione! But I've also read French history, so that probably isn't helping either."

Hermione laughed and drank her Butterbeer, reveling in the cheer and the friendship.

o-0-o

"What. A. Day." Tom looked up to see Hermione collapse onto the couch next to him, resting her head against the back cushion. "Dear Merlin."

"You've earned a break," he smiled. "You were excellent today."

She beamed at him. "I wouldn't have been able to do it at all without your encouragement."

He shrugged slightly, and she gave a huge yawn. "And to think," she said, "we're only halfway through the weekend."

"N.E.W.T.s are coming up soon. One month, I believe."

"Oh, I don't care about the N.E.W.T.s," she grinned. "That was just an excuse to come to Hogwarts. I mean, I still love learning, and I think I'll always be a bookworm no matter how much I pretend to be Lady Persephone. I just don't think they matter in the grand scheme of things, you know? It's not like I'm going to try to get a job or anything."

"You've changed quite a lot since the beginning of the year."

"So have you."

Tom's lips formed into a semblance of a smile. It was true, however much he hated to admit it. All thanks to her, he supposed. His plans had certainly changed; that was true. One Horcrux, when he'd planned on having at least two by the end of this year. With the Deathly Hallows, would he even need that Horcrux? And if he didn't, how in Salazar's name would he get rid of it?

Hermione mumbled something, jarring him from his thoughts. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. I just said that we'll need to check on Irma a lot, especially right now. I mean, we did make an Unbreakable Vow but she seems like the type of person who could find a way around it."

He nodded, his thoughts elsewhere. "How did you think of using leverage?"

She smiled sleepily. "Oh, I just thought of something that I did in my childhood. Long version or short?"

"Long is fine."

"So, there was this reporter named Rita Skeeter. Horrible woman. You remember Harry, right?"

"Of course."

"Since he was the Boy Who Lived and all that, she used to write all of these articles for the _Daily Prophet_ about him. Completely exposed what little privacy he had left in his life. She even bribed students to say things that weren't true so she could have some more gossip to put in her articles. He told her off once, which infuriated her, and then when I told her off too, she started writing nasty articles about how I was just an attention-seeker, and I was playing with Harry's attentions, something like that."

"Right."

She yawned widely. "She put me in this whole love triangle thing between Harry and this visiting Quidditch player named Viktor Krum. Everyone believed her, and I got all this horrible hate mail because I was 'toying with Harry's affections, and that poor boy'. Anyway. I later figured out that she was an unregistered Animagus, which as you know can land you in Azkaban, and –"

Tom gave a not-so-subtle cough.

"Oh, shut up," she laughed. "I caught her in her Animagus form – it was a beetle, by the way; I think I forgot to mention that – and trapped her in a jar and basically blackmailed her. I told her that I would hand her over to the Ministry unless she stopped writing about Harry and me. She stopped." Hermione smiled. "Oh, right, I forgot to mention I was fourteen."

Tom looked down at her, feeling a strange something – was it _affection?_ – course through him. "Clever little fox."

She turned a ridiculous shade of red, much to his amusement, then yawned again, stretching against the couch. "Sorry," she murmured. "What time is it?"

Tom performed a Tempus charm. "Nearly midnight."

She mumbled something he couldn't hear, then closed her eyes, seeming to be on the verge of drifting off. Then, to his immense surprise, her head dropped to his shoulder.

And stayed there.

Tom stared at her dozing form, completely bewildered, which was not an emotion he normally let himself experience. She looked so at peace and… relaxed. People didn't relax around him, especially not people who knew him well. Except Hermione.

It seemed she was the exception to everything.

Everyone followed his hierarchy, except for her. Muggleborns had been beneath his notice, then she came. No one even came close to him when it came to intelligence, except for her. No one captured his attention, captivated him, confused him, exhilarated him, saw him for _him_ … except for her.

He frowned to himself, as much at his odd mood swings as everything else. Hermione was making everything different and he, Tom Marvolo Riddle, who had hardly even looked at a girl in his entire life, was falling for her.

At least, he thought he was.

What else could it be?

He gazed at the sleeping girl on his shoulder, her curls a messy frame around her face. They looked so… soft. He wanted to touch them.

No. Self-control.

…Surely one curl couldn't hurt.

Hardly knowing why, he reached up a cautious hand and touched one. It was soft. He risked a glance at her face. She didn't move, and he twirled a curl around his finger. How did hair even do this?

Tom brushed some hair away from her face. She stirred. He froze, and she actually shifted so that she was closer to him, her head dropping to his chest.

Since she seemed to calm at his touch, he gently ran his fingers through her wild curls, and slowly the tension melted from her frame and she relaxed completely against him.

He shook his head, staring unseeing into the dying embers. Hermione Granger, Muggleborn. She had torn him apart and rebuilt him, changing the entire course of his life to something new. He had taught her magic, yes, diplomacy, but she had taught him humanity, humanity that he had not possessed before she had arrived. She had taught him how to laugh.

He suddenly realized that with the direction their lives were taking, they would spend almost every waking minute together as they planned and organized and directed this operation.

Tom wondered why he wouldn't have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So sorry for the late update! This is the longest one by far (sixteen pages instead of my usual ten) so I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> There were so many references in here. It would probably make the author's note twice as long if I tried to include them all. Just saying, if you caught all of them, you are a well-rounded person and you should be proud of yourself as a working, movie-watching member of society.
> 
> Another note: I'll be back in school in August, and my school is…arduous, to say the least. That means, starting August 17th, there will be far fewer updates than there have been. I'm not abandoning it, I promise, but it just means that there might be a month or more between updates since I'll be juggling a boatload of difficult classes, including some AP classes. Oh yeah, and Latin IV. Can't forget that one. So yeah. If I don't die this year from either homework or lack of sleep, I'll get some more updates out to you guys. It just won't be nearly as frequent as it has been.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and don't forget to comment!
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: When push comes to shove, I will post a fully-written chapter to remind you of my love!~  
> (Also, Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, but you knew that already.)
> 
> Note: I listened to War of Hearts by Ruelle and Eros by Ludovico Einaudi for this chapter!

Time passed. For Hermione, it seemed to move in the blink of an eye, especially when she considered the immense task looming ahead of her. She was incredibly grateful that she had the Knights, Cecily, Oraia, Lucretia, and Tom by her side, as they would lighten an otherwise impossible load, but it was still daunting.

Which was why, the night before the last day and the end-of-year feast, she found herself unable to sleep.

She couldn’t help going over all of their assets, as if to remind herself they still had something going for them. They did have Madam Irma on their side - not through any choice of hers, but she was still loyal - and were able to refine their plans with the uncensored news she was able to give them. Hermione, apparently, was to be the face of the campaign, for whatever reason, along with Tom. She desperately hoped he would do all of the talking and, however sexist it was, she could just be there to look respectable and boost Tom’s standing. She did not consider herself charismatic enough to stand in front of an audience and give a political speech. No way. But she could sit still and look pretty and that was alright with her, since she would be doing a lot of the political maneuvering in the background.

Cecily would be applying as a journalist for the _Daily Prophet_ , allowing her to provide the intel Madam Irma wasn’t able to give them. If things went well, she might even be able to gradually turn the people’s general mindset against the Ministry. Not that the people would need much persuading.

Lucretia would be her personal stylist. If Hermione was going to be the face of their operation, she needed to, in Lucy’s words, “not look frumpy”, especially when in the public eye. Hermione was just fine with a loose sweater and blue jeans, but she knew Lucretia would have none of that, especially when she would be on the front page of the paper. Sigh.

Well. No matter what, she would not wear makeup on the weekend. Those days were for reading books and snuggling with Delphi. Nothing would change that. Hopefully.

The Knights were mostly there for doing various jobs. If she were a criminal mastermind, which she wasn’t, she would probably refer to them as doing her “dirty work”. Obviously, nothing about this was dirty, but that was the basic gist of it. Much-appreciated… clean work? Something like that. She still needed to work on it.

Hermione sighed and rolled over in her four-poster. And, of course, Tom, Dark-Lord-Turned-Minister-of-Magic. She grinned to herself. She had come back to change things, and oh, how she’d changed them. _Never gonna be Voldemort now…_

But, even with an amazing team and an amazing plan, there were still many, many things that could go wrong. She tried really hard not to think of them, but they just slipped out sometimes. And above all the burning question: _What if we fail?_

Overwhelmed, Hermione opened a drawer in her nightstand, pulling out the locket. She fingered it absentmindedly, watching it flash whenever lightning struck. The thunder seemed to rumble in sync with the second heartbeat in the back of her head.

From what she could tell from the soul bond, Tom wasn’t sleeping any, either.

She sighed heavily. _Tom?_

__

__

_You’re still awake?_

He’d probably been too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice her end of the bond, Hermione mused. _I can’t sleep._

He grimaced. _Neither can I._

__

_Because of the thunderstorm?_

_Because of many things. We’re leaving tomorrow._

_Yeah… It feels strange, you know?_ She hesitated. _I mean, I’m graduating, but I don’t feel any older. I certainly don’t feel ready to take down the actual Ministry of Magic!_

 _We have a plan,_ he reminded her. _I’m confident in our abilities._

_But what if we fail?_

_We won’t fail. We don’t have room for failure. We succeed, or we don’t. Either way, we have a plan._

Hermione sighed, then nodded. _Okay._

She turned over on her side, trying to go to sleep, but she couldn’t concentrate. It was true what Tom had said, but she still couldn’t stop herself from worrying. She pursed her lips together, tracing the shape of the snake on the locket. It really was beautiful. She closed her eyes, trying to listen to the thunder and the steady fall of rain against the window, but all she could hear was her heart beating far too quickly.

Then she felt Tom frown. _Hermione, meet me in the Room at midnight._

She had learned by now not to question him. His ideas were usually quite good. Usually. Horcruxes excepted. That had been rather stupid. Powerful and advanced, of course, but stupid. _I’ll be there._

The thunderstorm was still going strong when eleven forty-five hit. Hermione checked to be sure everyone was still in bed before changing into jeans and a warm jacket. Pulling her curly hair out of the messy bun on top of her head so that it hung loose around her shoulders, she set off at a brisk walk to the seventh floor and the Room of Hidden Things.

She probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway.

 _I need a place to meet Tom Riddle. Somewhere we won’t be detected._ The doors revealed themselves, and she opened them cautiously to see a small room, plainly furnished, with low torches burning on the stone walls.

The doors clicked shut just as the bells tolled twelve, and Tom walked in just behind her. “Good. You’re here.”

“Of course I am.” Hermione discreetly eyed him, noting how good his black jacket looked on him, until she realized what she was doing and turned around quickly before he could see her bright red face. He had a strange crooked smile on his face, though, so he might have seen it anyway.

Dear Merlin, hang it all.

“I need a passage into the Forest, to somewhere we can’t be seen,” Tom said. At the wall opposite them, a small door appeared, just as plain as the rest of the room. A door that led out into the Forest. Outside. Where the thunderstorm was.

“You can’t be serious.”

He smiled slightly. “I’m very much serious.”

“We can’t just go out into a bloody thunderstorm!”

“Why not?”

“Well, the thunderstorm is right on top of us, so there could be hail, and not to mention the fact that we could get struck by lightning! No, forget could. We will get struck by lightning. There’s no doubt about it. None. Whatsoever. Do you have a death wish?”

He smirked. “I can’t die, remember?”

“No,” she scowled, “but I can most definitely die, and I’d rather not, thank you very much.”

Tom opened the door. Thunder crashed overhead, and lightning illuminated the tall trees that surrounded the opening. Rain beat down on the forest floor, the wind blowing so hard that the droplets were falling almost sideways.

“Nope,” Hermione said. “I’m out. Have fun. I’ll be sleeping.”

“You won’t, actually. You’ll be staring at the ceiling, because you have insomnia at the moment. I do too. Which is why I’m going outside.”

“We’re going to die. Well, I am. Weep at my funeral.”

“You know I won’t.”

“You’re heartless, Riddle.”

“Soulless. There’s a difference.”

She laughed despite herself.

“Ladies first, then?”

“I’m not going out in that.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Go outside, Hermione.”

“Make m-”

Tom smiled. “Believe me, you don’t want to finish that sentence.”

She glared at him. “I swear, if I die, I will haunt you forever. Which will be a long time, since you can’t die. You will never be rid of me. I’ll follow you around forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever.”

“I’m sure you will. Now go out the door.”

Hermione gave a great huff. She felt his amusement through the bond, which only made her glare at him harder, but she finally complied and went out into the storm.

“Oh yeah,” she called back to Tom as he came through the door, “I forgot to mention! Trees are conductors! Which means it’s _even more likely_ that lightning will strike us if we’re standing underneath a tree. And we’re in a whole bloody forest! You did _not_ think this through, Tom!”

“I always think things through.”

“Not this time!” She glowered at him. “And now I’m soaked. Thanks.”

“You’re being very ungrateful,” he said, moving over to stand next to her.

“What do I have to be _grateful_ for, may I ask?” She jumped violently as lightning flashed overhead. “I’m going to die, and it’ll be entirely your fault!”

The door leading back into the Room of Requirement closed and vanished. Hermione desperately hoped it would be here when they needed it. The rain was coming down in sheets, and the lightning and thunder were now crashing simultaneously.

“So, Tom,” she said finally, turning to face him, “why on earth are we out in the Forbidden Forest, in the middle of the night, in a thunderstorm that will probably kill me as I speak?”

“Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The lightning.”

Oh, she could feel it, alright. She let out a shriek as lightning struck a tree, momentarily blinding her and setting the tree ablaze. “I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die.”

“Focus, Hermione.”

Focus? He wanted her to _focus_? She’d give him focus, the crazy-yet-somehow-still-hot-sociopath.

“How am I not dead yet?”

“Move quickly and you won’t be.”

“For the love of -” Why had she decided coming here was such a good idea?

Oh, right. She couldn’t sleep. She felt slightly hysterical.

“Breathe.”

Breathe. She could do that. In. Out. In. Out. Easy. Don’t focus on the many, many things here that could kill you. In. Out.

Tom took hold of her hands. “Now, link with me.”

“Here?”

“Yes, here.”

She frowned but complied, and a few minutes later there was a steady magical current coursing through both of them.

“Good. Now close your eyes.”

She did.

“Open yourself up to the lightning.”

Her eyes snapped open. “Are you _mad?_ ”

“Probably. But do you trust me?”

“I mean, yes, of course, but are you serious?”

“Quite serious. Just relax.”

She paused, her stomach lurching with adrenaline, but nodded. “Fine, okay.”

When she closed her eyes again, he let go of one of her hands, taking the other to keep the link going. She forced herself to relax, focusing on the feeling of the rain splashing onto her face and soaking her clothes, the rumbling and crackling of the thunder overhead, the temporarily blinding flashes of lightning, which still burned her eyes even though they were closed. The electricity all around her, in the air and in her skin, the way it mingled with her magic. The way she could feel him, standing just behind her, the feel of his pulse as his magic flowed from his hand to hers in a way that could only be described as _him._ The feeling of his heartbeat.

She drew a deep breath, and released control of her magic.

Her eyes snapped open as the lightning coursed through her, so intense she almost cried out. She wanted nothing more than to draw as much of it as she could, to feel the raw power coursing through her fingertips until she burned. It was blazing life, and she felt that she could destroy cities, nations, _worlds_ with it, with the magic flowing unrestrained through her, giving her sweet life, beautiful pain.

Tom's channeling kept her in check, and she recalled suddenly that she could die with this much unfiltered magic. She sent some back to him through the link, felt some of the exhilaration leave her, the feeling that she was teetering on the brink of madness. He inhaled sharply when it reached him, and she drew more and more of it until she thought she would burst. Her entire being felt as if it were on fire, and she closed her eyes, reveling in the power it gave her.

All of a sudden, it hurt too much, and she couldn’t bear it any longer. She released the struggle. As soon as she did so, a wave of dizziness washed over her, and she swayed, lightheaded. Tom supported her easily.

“Careful,” he murmured. “I have you.” His fingertips burned from the remaining magic.

Her heart suddenly started pounding - whether from him or from adrenaline, she couldn’t tell; maybe it was both - and she turned around to face him. His black hair was dripping, and rain ran down his pale face, but his dark eyes were watching her thoughtfully, and the flashes of lightning lit up his entire being so that he seemed almost like a ghost.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

She hesitantly reached up a hand to brush against his jaw. His eyes widened at her touch, and her fingers traveled up to trace his cheekbones, his forehead, the bridge of his nose, over his lips. He caught her hand, his eyes never leaving hers, and pressed an almost uncertain kiss to her knuckles.

She stilled.

He dropped her hand, and she shakily reached up to brush some of his soft hair out of his face. Hardly aware of the rain pouring down on them, her heart dropping into her stomach, she stood on tiptoe and, taking a deep breath, pressed her lips to his.

When he didn’t respond, she stumbled backward, her hands flying to her mouth in combined mortification and crushing disappointment. Had she perceived this all wrong? “Oh dear Merlin, Tom, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think-” she stammered, but cut herself off as he walked toward her, stopping only when he was far too close for comfort. She glanced up to see him gazing down at her, a faint crease between his eyebrows, for all the world looking at her as if at a particularly difficult rune he was trying to solve. She wanted to laugh, feeling a strange detachment from herself.

He tilted his head slightly, then reached out his hand to run a thumb over her jaw, just as she had done to him. She hardly dared to breathe. He tipped her chin up, and her lips parted as his gaze traveled down to meet them. His eyes met hers again, and she swallowed, trembling.

Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, thought she might die from want, he leaned down, his lips inches from hers, and closed the distance between them.

She surrendered to the sweet oblivion, her hands sliding up of their own accord to wrap around his neck, and it was pure ecstasy. Their lips moved in harmony, and she reached up and took a fistful of his soft hair. He tugged her closer, and all she could think of was Tom, and he smelled of rain and smoke and him.

They broke apart. “Oh,” she breathed, and he smiled before kissing her again, and it was all she could do to cling to him as his kisses grew faster. She tangled her fingers in his hair, and he pulled her close, and she kissed him and he kissed her as the rain poured down on them and the thunder crashed overhead.

It was a while before they released each other. When they finally did, she rested her forehead against his, breathing in the chilly night air. All she felt from their bond was a strong flow of that feeling she couldn’t ever quite place, which surged as her eyes met his.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and even though she didn’t elaborate, she knew he understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Tell me you were satisfied with that. I'm waiting.
> 
> So. I finally got a chapter out to you guys! It's only been a month… If you were taking AP Physics, though, I know you'd understand.
> 
> Multiple references in here. Two of them were Hamilton, one was the name of a song, and one was an incorrect quotes thing I found on Tumblr. If you're the artist that did it, you know who you are, and thank you for the inspiration!
> 
> Again, don't expect a whole lot of updates, because I'm swamped with homework and sleep-deprived, but I'll try to get another chapter out to you guys when I don't have quite as much homework as usual.
> 
> Thanks for reading, don't forget to comment, and I'll see you guys next chapter!
> 
> Stay safe :)
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I clearly don't own Harry Potter. Anyone who thinks that is either just plain dumb, or is complimenting me way too much.
> 
> A/N: I'd recommend Black Sea by Natasha Blume and Dark Horse by Sleeping At Last.

Hermione yawned and stretched, settling back into her covers as a warm feeling of contentment washed over her. She smiled, fighting back another yawn, her cheeks hot as she remembered last night. Merlin, his eyes. They were so dark. And the way he’d held her...

She blinked and climbed out of bed. She would not be fantasizing over him like a schoolgirl. She had work to do.

She yawned again. Surely a cup of coffee and a quick trip to the library wouldn’t hurt. They still had time to kill before the Hogwarts Express arrived to take them home for the summer, and it was only six in the morning.

The Leaving Feast had been rather delicious. Ravenclaw had won the House Cup, with Slytherin only two points behind, but Hermione didn’t entirely care; she had much more important things on her mind. Plus, having been in Gryffindor for six years, it was hard to shake the disappointment of her former House losing, even though she wasn’t technically a Gryffindor anymore. It had been rather difficult to get her mind out of the Gryffindor mentality and into that of Slytherin, even if she was a proud one. 

It was obvious she was tired. Her mind kept wandering.

Skipping breakfast entirely, she got dressed and headed down to the kitchens, stepping inside to see a multitude of house elves hard at work. She scowled, but politely asked one of them to bring her a much-sweetened mug of coffee, and he did so happily. Hermione much preferred tea, of course, but coffee was better for waking a person up. She just drank it with cream. A lot of cream.

She sipped from her mug, wincing at the scalding bitterness as she made her way up to the library. Pushing the heavy oak doors open, she saw that it was completely deserted.

Perfect.

The library was her happy place, her refuge. Full of fascinating ideas, and stories, and histories. Books didn’t judge her because of her blood status, or her bushy hair, or her overeagerness to learn. They welcomed it. She couldn’t count the number of times she had slipped in here, her cheeks wet from crying, to bury herself in a thick, dusty tome in a long-forgotten corner of the library. This place felt more like home than anywhere had felt before.

Hermione drew a deep breath, shaking herself out of the deep thoughts that had occupied her mind, and browsed the shelves, running her finger along the soft, leather-bound spines. Her hand found one, and she didn’t realize until she’d pulled it from the shelf that it was the exact color of his eyes. She smiled despite herself, remembering last night, but inhaled sharply and tried to clear it from her mind. _Focus, Hermione._

She browsed the shelves some more until she found a title that looked interesting, and walked through the empty aisles to the back, where she usually sat with… Tom.

Who was also there. Reading.

To her complete mortification, her cheeks flooded with color, which only deepened as he looked up from his book. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a rare smile, one she scarcely saw him show. Usually his smiles were fake. It saddened her.

She took a deep breath, gathered whatever Gryffindor courage remained, and sat down next to him, positive she looked as nervous as she felt. It had never been this way around Ron, or even Viktor. Ron she had been friends with first, so they had been comfortable around each other, and with Viktor, she had never really had feelings for him. Oh, she was thrilled she’d been asked to the Yule Ball by someone who didn’t just want to cheat off of her homework, and he was very sweet and caring, but for her it had never really gone further than that.

And then… Tom.

Dear Merlin, why couldn’t she have just picked another Quidditch player? He was on a whole other level from anything she had ever experienced.

If Hermione was being honest, she was at war with herself. She liked Tom. Really, really liked him. And she could see a tiny spark of good in him, buried deep somewhere under his Horcrux and his pain and his ambition. She felt a weird desire to fix him, to stitch him back together so everything would be fine. She wanted to see him smile like he had just now. She wanted to hear him laugh.

But there was another part of her. Trauma from the war, perhaps, or just common sense. She’d always had too much of that. Whatever it was, that voice that nagged in the back of her mind. 

_You can’t trust him._

And she knew she couldn’t. Tom had given her no reason whatsoever to. Yes, they had made an Unbreakable Vow, and yes, he was teaching her to use magic she had never dreamt was even possible. But he was still using it for his own gain. He could be using her, too.

He probably was.

Tom had shown himself to be a master manipulator. He was cunning, and clever, and intelligent, and had no reason to associate himself with a lowly Mudblood like her. Why else other than to gain power in the best way possible?

But then why would he go out in the rain with her, teach her how to channel the lightning, how to link? He had gone above and beyond to train her, to shape her into the Lady Persephone persona she would be using with the people. He had taught her not only magic and politics, but how to think outside the box, how to negotiate, how to be the best possible version of herself. _Talk less, smile more,_ he’d said. And he’d been right.

But there was a whole other problem.

She often experienced flashbacks, triggered memories, and had even had a couple of panic attacks from the Second Wizarding War. She’d remember Fred. Mad-Eye. Tonks and Lupin. Dumbledore and Sirius and Harry, she’d seen her best friend lying limp in Hagrid’s arms and she knew, _she knew._ It was like a rushing noise past her ears, and she saw white, and she screamed but she couldn’t hear herself.

She remembered being tortured by Bellatrix. She remembered fleeing from Nagini, shooting spells at Death Eaters, desperately trying to block the spells sent her way. It was a living nightmare, and she’d been caught in the middle of it, and it was brutal and terrifying and harsh and she was a Gryffindor, yes, but at times there was nothing she wanted more than to run away. She was only seventeen at the time, and had experienced far more than any seventeen-year-old should have to experience.

And at the center of it all… _him._

Terrifying red eyes, the Elder Wand in hand, and an insatiable thirst for blood. Leading the entire Death Eater army, an army that just stretched on and on and on. Magical powers that outclassed all of theirs put together. He’d destroyed her world, her home, everyone and everything she loved, and the only way he’d been defeated was by sheer coincidence and a vast amount of luck. He’d ruined her entire childhood, and she’d vowed to make him pay. She’d vowed to change things, to rewrite history so that none of them would have to suffer what they’d suffered.

 _But he’s not Voldemort yet,_ she reminded herself fiercely, even as she felt herself start to shake. _You can still heal him. He needs you._

And however strange and terrifying it was, she needed him too.

She needed Tom.

And Tom was different. He hadn’t veered too far down the path to immortality yet. He had one Horcrux, yes, but hadn’t she convinced him that there was another way? Wouldn’t they achieve immortality together, without having to mutilate their souls in the process?

Either way… they needed each other. And she really didn’t associate Tom with his future self. This Tom was just so, so different. This Tom had a tiny piece of humanity in him left, and she intended to coax it out of him until it enveloped his whole being. She wouldn’t stop at it. Even if it took the rest of her life, _she would save him._ She was determined to.

And when she determined to do something, nothing stopped her until she’d achieved it.

Hermione nodded to herself and rested her book on her lap. "Can we talk?"

Tom's lips twitched. "That might be in order."

Hermione smiled, absentmindedly fiddling with her hands in her lap. She had no idea what to say. "Er, well-"

"I suppose you owe Abraxas his precious ten Galleons."

Hermione laughed this time. "Yeah. Yeah, I probably do."

Silence.

"So," she began hesitantly, "what are we going to tell them? That we snogged in the thunderstorm last night? I mean, how are we going to approach this?"

Tom was quiet, and she sneaked a glance at his face, then laughed out loud. "Oh my word."

"What?"

"You're blushing. You're actually blushing."

"No I'm not."

"You absolutely are. Oh, this is a glorious day. I'm totally reminding you of this the next time you go all Scary Dark Lord at a meeting."

"Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"Do me a favor and stop talking."

Hermione sniggered. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen -"

"Hermione." His voice was teasing, but no one besides herself would have been able to tell.

She smirked. " _Sorry._ "

Tom shook his head, but his face held a hint of a smile. As well as a faint redness that he was trying valiantly to hide. And failing.

She laughed again.

"You're the worst. Did you know that?"

"Oh, I know. I'm well aware."

"That's good, at least." He rolled his eyes as she started laughing again. "Why do I feel like you're going to hold this against me for the rest of my life?"

"Probably because I am."

"Well, if you use this to blackmail me..." His eyes glinted. "Don't get me started on the leverage I have on you."

"Oh, Merlin. I forgot about that." Her eyes widened as she considered everything he'd seen when he'd looked through her mind all those months ago. "Dang it."

He smiled, and it was her turn to glare at him.

"What were we talking about? Oh, right, what we were going to tell everyone."

"We don't have to tell anyone anything."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"This does not seem like a thing that one should... announce."

"But it's good news, isn't it?"

"I don't understand why it is their business to know."

Why was his voice so cold?

"Well, generally," Hermione said, "when two people get together, they tell the people they care about."

"I don't care for anyone except... well, you. You know this." He frowned, as if the words took effort to say.

She drew a deep breath. _It's just the Horcrux,_ she told herself firmly. _It's not him._ "We don't have to talk about it right now, if you don't want to."

He nodded, and she stared down at the table, trying to push away the disappointment. Again, he was so different from anyone she'd been with before. Even Cormac had seemed excited, however narcissistic he was. Tom... she could never seem to read him. There was still a steady flow of that something she could never place, which seemed so unfamiliar to him, but his end of the bond had turned to ice.

"Oh, right." She cast a privacy charm and pulled out a map she'd been keeping in her bookbag, along with charts and lists. It helped to keep her thoughts together, and the more organized they were, the better. "I've been tracking down potential locations for the Hallows."

Tom's interest was finally piqued, and he shifted his chair so that he was closer to the papers now lying neatly across the table. "See," Hermione said, "there are, of course, three of them. The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak. I've spent a long time looking up the genealogy of the Peverells, and I believe the Cloak has passed down through Ignotus's line. I'm not sure which family has it, though, since there's been a lot of intermarriage among the wizarding families, of course, but it's a good place to start."

"Good."

"Okay, and then the Elder Wand. It's had a really bloody history, but I'm fairly certain that Grindelwald had it during the Global Wizarding War, so we can start with him. He's imprisoned in Nurmengard."

"And the Resurrection Stone?"

Hermione sighed. "That's the thing. I can't find any traces of it anywhere. I've tried to track down its history, but it doesn't seem to have been used very often and it sort of... disappeared. There are no recent records of it whatsoever."

Tom frowned. "That's odd."

"I know!" She huffed. "The library had nothing on it, and it has information on pretty much every subject that I can think of, so I can't imagine why it wouldn't have any on this."

"The Deathly Hallows are a children's tale to some and completely unknown to others. I'd never heard of them until you mentioned them."

"Yeah, I suppose that's true." Hermione frowned, then smiled again. "But we have two leads, and that's good enough to start with!"

Tom smiled at her. "Definitely."

Her hand found his, and she felt reassured. They could do this. All they needed was a little time.

o-0-o

"Now," Hermione said, "we need to make this meeting really quick, since we board the train in only two hours, but we thought it would be good to update you on our plans for the summer." 

"As you all know," Tom said, "our mission is to abolish the Ministry, in whatever way is best, and institute a new government, one that will serve in both our interests and that of the peoples'. Hermione and I believe that we will not be able to do this in a single lifetime, and therefore, we will be seeking immortality."

Several of the Knights exchanged shocked looks, and Dorian piped up, "You mean soul magic?"

"That's exactly right," Hermione said. "We've found a way to attain immortality without any rituals, which can get... gruesome, to say the least, and we wanted to avoid that as much as possible. So, we'll be searching for the Deathly Hallows."

"Wait," Rufus said, "you mean those three magical items in that one story in _Beedle the Bard?_ "

"But that's just a children's story," Macnair scoffed. "They're not actually real."

"Oh, but they are," she smiled. "We've tracked down the locations of two of them, in fact."

"And," Tom continued, "we will be searching for said Hallows, which means that for the first part of the summer, we will not be with you."

"Wait, what?" Abraxas exclaimed. "How will we be able to move forward without you two?"

"We'll give you tasks," Hermione said. "They won't be hard, but they're extremely essential. Recruiting undercover allies, securing a place in the Daily Prophet, all of these are vital to our success, but none of them will require our guidance."

"Oh, okay," Winston nodded. "And you'll be trying to find the Hallows?"

"Yes," Tom said. "And we won't return until we find them. However, you also won't know when we will come back, so be sure to not put anything off. Our mission is resting on your shoulders for the time being."

They all nodded slowly, their expressions turning serious.

"Does anyone have any questions?" Hermione asked. "We'll give you your assignment individually after we arrive back in London."

No one answered, and Tom gave a short nod. "Meeting adjourned."

o-0-o

The station was crowded when they boarded. People swarmed the cars, searching for an empty compartment, and the trolley lady was trying to push the trolley of candy through the cramped aisles. Hermione's friends had already secured a compartment, but she and Tom headed for an empty one at the very back. After casting a Notice-Me-Not charm, ensuring they would get no visitors, Hermione relaxed into her seat. "What. A. Year."

"Especially for you," Tom said, opening a book. "Time travel and a revolution. I am quite sure it would be enough to make anyone exhausted."

"Oh Merlin, _revolution_ sounds scary. Is there another word we could use?"

"Rebellion? Revolt?" He smiled. "Uprising?"

"I don't like any of those," Hermione scowled. "It makes it seem a lot bigger than it really is."

"Bigger? Hermione, we're overthrowing the government."

"We're overthrowing the government. We're actually doing this."

"We are."

"Merlin's beard, I'm terrified."

Tom sighed and set the book down. Hermione felt him take her hand. "We are perfectly capable. You know that, right?"

"Of course, it's just such a big task, and -"

"Don't think of it as one large undertaking. Think of the small, individual steps. Those are easy."

Hermione nodded. She could focus on that.

"We are more than able to do this. Think of all of the wrongs and infringements they've committed against the people. All of the bribes, and the control, and the corruption that lies deep in the office. Azkaban, and the people they've sentenced to die a slow, torturous death there. Think of the greed, and the selfishness, and the power-greedy officials who care nothing about the people they're supposed to be serving."

She felt herself burn with new fire. "They made us fight. We were seventeen, and we were doing their job for them."

Tom tensed up, as he always did when she referenced the war and, by extension, his future self, but he squeezed her hand in reassurance. "Exactly. They've been in power for far too long, and they have just gotten too corrupt to run the government properly anymore."

Hermione gave a fierce nod. "I'm already beginning to draft a new system of government. I'll need a whole lot of people to revise it, of course, and change it completely. We'll probably need a whole committee just for the planning. But we're going to do this the right way, and let the people perform whatever magic they want without any restrictions, and there'll be office terms, and we'll try to prevent the corruption that's in the Ministry right now as much as we can."

Tom smiled. "This is why I keep you around."

"The only reason?" she asked, standing up and sitting down beside him.

"One of many," he admitted.

She grinned, and there was a few moments of silence.

"We can do this," she said finally.

"Absolutely. Especially with our assets. You will need to be Lady Persephone whenever we are interviewed, and I will be as political as I can when I speak, but there will be a day when we can celebrate what we have created."

"And the people will kneel," Hermione said softly.

"And the people will kneel," Tom agreed.

_End of Part 1_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the late update! One and a half months... that's probably my worst time yet. Once again, I'm not abandoning it. Promise. Cross my heart. My plans for these two are too big to let them go to waste.
> 
> I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but _Flight of the Stars_ will be divided into two parts, with twenty chapters each. Part 1, as you can see, during Hogwarts and Part 2 after.
> 
> I haven't written it out yet, but I have the whole story outlined. No writer's block for me! I'm so excited to get the other half out to you guys, so stay tuned! Hopefully I can try to update more, but no promises.
> 
> Also, thank you so much for so many reads and kudos! That still blows my mind. I appreciate all your love and support! It's what keeps me going. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, don't forget to comment, and have a lovely day!
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, never has, and never will, so I might as well stop deluding myself.
> 
> Note: For this chapter, I'd recommend Crown by Camila Cabello.

_Book Two_

____

The Riddle House was grand. Far grander than any one person could ever want, and certainly more than a person would ever need. Tall and stately, situated on the outskirts of Little Hangleton, with large windows overlooking the small village, it was the object of envy of Muggles and wizards alike. Gardens trimmed to perfection, not a single blade of grass out of place, it radiated that the average person was not welcome inside its imposing doors.

____

__If someone should be fortunate enough to receive an invitation, he would immediately notice, upon entering, the terrible chill of the manor. Oh, there were fireplaces, all the fireplaces a person could afford, and it even had a Muggle form of insulation that they called fiberglass, but it was a different sort of chill than simply that often associated with large houses. A residue of magic remained, from Dark magic not long ago cast, that left a sinister feeling in the air, and a prickling feeling between your shoulder-blades, the feeling that you were being watched. The manor had been left empty for a reason, and after the Riddles had died in that strange accident a little over two years ago, the house had never been quite the same._ _

____

__However, as of late, it had been occupied again, and the residents of Little Hangleton were left to wonder why anyone, much less thirteen people, almost all male, would wish to occupy such a dreary place. They of course disapproved of the one young woman staying with them, thought her a woman of loose morals, so there was much gossip to be had, but everyone, old and young, were bewildered at the state of things inside._ _

____

__The young woman, a certain Hermione Granger, couldn’t care less about what the villagers were saying of her at that present moment. She was too busy occupied with a letter. She was writing so quickly that she left blots all across the parchment, and there was a smudge of ink on her nose that she didn’t seem to notice. A warm fire crackled in the grate, casting a low light across the sitting room and giving off a heat that was causing her to sweat slightly, even in the cold weather, but she wasn’t paying attention to that, either._ _

____

__A man about her age, perhaps a little older, was leaning against the doorframe, quite tall and strikingly handsome. His stance appeared casual, but his fingers were tapping restlessly, and his dark eyes were hard with impatience. Every so often, his eyes would flicker over to what she was writing, and his mouth would purse in a thin line that betrayed the annoyance he was trying to hide._ _

____

__They were not the only people in the room. A man with white-blond hair, of the famous Malfoy family, or infamous, depending on where you stood, was sitting restlessly on the couch, waiting on Tom Riddle’s word to take the message and deliver it personally to whomever it was addressed. He was not as skilled as Tom at hiding what he was feeling, and kept shooting anxious glances over to the writing desk, where the woman was writing as fast as she could. Whatever this message was, it seemed to be of dire consequence.  
“Done!” Hermione announced, letting the quill fall and hurriedly sealing the letter. They had created their own seal insignia, so that whoever received this message would know that it was from the Lady Persephone. The Lady would have quite a lot of power, soon. One would never think that she was a Muggleborn, much less the woman sitting at the desk at that very moment with ink stains on her fingers._ _

____

__“Finally,” Tom muttered. Hermione shot him a look._ _

____

__Abraxas Malfoy shot out of his seat and hurriedly took the letter. He glanced at the address on the front, and the color drained from his face. “Are you sure?” he whispered._ _

____

__“Quite sure,” Hermione said. “But we can always have someone else deliver it if you’re too afraid.”_ _

____

__“I’m not afraid,” Abraxas scoffed. “I just think that this is a bad idea.”_ _

____

__“Well, then perhaps you can plan the rebellion,” Hermione said coolly._ _

____

__“I’m good, thanks,” he said._ _

____

__“Go, Abraxas,” Tom said. His voice belied danger, and Abraxas sped out of the room, the letter hidden safely in his jacket pocket. As he was leaving, Hermione gave him a smile to take any sting out of her words. She felt the beginnings of a headache._ _

____

__“Now that that’s done,” she sighed, “at least we can rest for a short time.”_ _

____

__“There won’t be any resting for a while, I’m afraid,” Tom said._ _

____

__Hermione sighed again. Her head really was throbbing. “If we don’t rest now, we may never rest,” she said. “There’s so much work to be done, and I have no idea where to start.”  
“Tonight was a large step. Now we simply must plan our trip.”_ _

____

__“You make it sound like a vacation,” Hermione smiled. “I wish it were.”_ _

____

__His lip quirked up, but he frowned again. “We know the location of the Elder Wand, or at least have a very good lead on it. We can possibly trace the Cloak, with patience. And we have no clue where the Stone is.”_ _

____

__“Right,” Hermione said absentmindedly. She frowned as well, staring down at the ink-splattered desk. It felt like a portion of her memory was missing, and she knew a large part involved the Deathly Hallows, especially since her knowledge of them prior to time traveling was more recent. The Reducite curse that had sent her back in time - highly unstable, and used on her by a pureblood elitist, who had likely cast it in the hopes that she would die a painful death - had no reverse spell. She was stuck in 1945. Because of that, she had caused great changes in what she thought of as her timeline, and so was making her previous timeline not exist. It was all highly confusing to her, but one thing stood out: she was forgetting details about her past life, which included information she had learned while in that past life but had never used._ _

____

__Like where Dumbledore had found all of the Hallows._ _

____

__Something about the Resurrection Stone kept niggling in the back of her mind, but she could never quite put her finger on it. She knew that if she could simply remember, they would have an easy path to immortality, but it would not be quite that simple. Even if they found all the Hallows - and that was a hard if, considering the lack of information - even if they found them, there was still the matter of Tom’s Horcrux. She shook her head. Bloody idiot. How in Merlin’s name would they get rid of that?_ _

____

__She winced as a particularly sharp throb stabbed through her head, and Tom frowned, suddenly concerned. “Is it another of your headaches?”_ _

____

__“I’m fine, honestly,” she said quickly, “I just need a little rest. I’ve been working almost all day.”_ _

____

__“Of course,” Tom said. “Let me know if you need anything.”_ _

____

__Hermione smiled at him and made her way up to her room. He had come a long way from the arrogant, ambition-bent Tom she had first met in Flourish and Blotts. He had changed drastically._ _

____

__But so had she. And not necessarily for the better._ _

____

__It will all be worth it in the end, she assured herself. She had to remind herself of that daily, lest she lose hope. Their venture was such a massive undertaking that she often felt overwhelmed, both with everything they needed to do and with what was expected of her. She had never done anything like this._ _

____

__Of course, there was a first time for everything._ _

____

__As she climbed under the warm blankets, shivering despite the fire crackling in the fireplace, her mind wandered. They had given the Knights their instructions already. They would be performed separately, and the other Knights were not even aware of each others’ tasks, having been instructed not to reveal them. Cecily’s job was perhaps the most important of all, as she would be the main one working to take down the Ministry of Magic from the inside._ _

____

__She and Tom, of course, would be searching for the Deathly Hallows._ _

o-0-o

__The morning they left was a flurry of activity. She and Tom would be traveling all over Europe, so they had decided it would be far more efficient to have a quiet, set place in northern Europe where they would be able to temporarily live during their search, a place no one knew about. This reminded Hermione far too much of camping with Harry and Ron during their search for the Horcruxes for her comfort, but at least she and Tom wouldn’t be staying in a tent. They’d found a lovely house, relatively under the radar and completely unoccupied, that would do quite nicely._ _

____

__Cecily, Lucretia, and Oraia were at the Riddle House that morning as well, helping Hermione pack. She’d performed countless Undetectable Extension Charms, her bags stuffed with books and books and more books, parchment, and quills, as well as more than a dozen changes of clothes, a spare wand, and even, at Lucretia’s insistence, the book on hair charms the girl given her at Christmas. Hermione included it to humor her, but she knew she would be far too busy to worry about such a silly thing as her hair._ _

____

__Finally they were ready to leave. She gave a heartfelt goodbye to the girls, allowed Abraxas to mess up her hair again, and accepted kisses on the back of her hand, of all the ridiculous things, from the rest of the Knights. They really were far too into the chivalry thing. Then, shouldering her bags, which she had shrunk for easier carrying, she took Tom’s arm and they Disapparated._ _

____

__The house that they’d Apparated to was smaller than she remembered, but still more than enough space for temporary occupation. There was a small entryway, no more than a few feet at most, a kitchenette, one bathroom, and two bedrooms on either side of the house. She knew that their situation would be frowned upon should anyone hear of it, and even Tom looked slightly uncomfortable, that much even showing on his face, but hopefully they would be back in the Riddle House in two months at most. It really was a delightful little place. And it even had a library. Not that she would have much time to be in it._ _

____

__They wasted no time in setting up. That would come later, when they hit a dead end. For now, when they had a strong lead, they needed to act on it. Hermione spread their many notes out on the tiny two-person table, organizing them according to relevance and date. When she was finished, she had quite a nice timeline, even if the ink was smudged on the parchment in several spots. She then pulled out a few books, opened them to certain bookmarked locations, and took a step back to view her work._ _

____

__“Right,” she said. “So. To recap. We think Grindelwald has the Elder Wand. We’re not sure, but it’s a good place to start. The Cloak is in Ignotus Peverell’s line. And the Resurrection Stone is nowhere to be found.” She knew there was something about the Stone, but what . . . ?_ _

____

__“I think we know what to do, then,” Tom said quietly._ _

____

__Hermione gave a decisive nod. “He’s in Nurmengard, isn’t he? But where is it?”_ _

____

__“Austria,” Tom said. Hermione stared at him, and he gave a light shrug. “You’re not the only one good at researching.”_ _

____

__She nodded. “Then are we ready?”_ _

____

__Tom pulled out his wand, Hermione took a firmer grip on hers, and they Apparated to Nurmengard._ _

o-0-o

__Nurmengard was a towering black rock of a fortress, with high, imposing walls. The waves crashed against the craggy cliffs upon which it was situated, and guards were stationed on all sides. Thunder rumbled overhead, and a freezing rain fell, fuelling the waves. It appeared virtually impassable, especially when they saw there were far more guards than they had anticipated._ _

____

__One key word: appeared._ _

____

__The many Aurors guarding the prison seemed bored out of their minds. They were arranged in a very military style, and had all the appearance of a diligent team doing their duty, but even from the cliffs, Hermione could tell their eyes were glazed over, their posture relaxed. It seemed Grindelwald had no intention of breaking out. After all, his defeat two years ago had been quite clear, even if the duel had taken hours._ _

____

__Of course, they weren’t intending to break him out anyway._ _

____

__“Do you think we can just walk up?” Hermione whispered._ _

____

__“I’m not sure,” Tom murmured, “but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”_ _

____

__She assumed the persona of Lady Persephone and strode up, putting on so much confidence she thought she might explode. Without waiting for the guards to greet her, she said, “I wish to speak to the prisoner.”_ _

____

__They stared suspiciously at her. “Name and identification?”_ _

____

_Um…_

____

_Just say Persephone and give them your wand. They won’t recognize it anyway._

____

__“Persephone,” she said, with a touch of haughtiness, and handed over her wand. One of the Aurors examined it, seemed to find nothing wrong with it, and handed it back._ _

____

__“And you?” he asked Tom._ _

____

_Cover for me. I’ll ensure they won’t remember us._

____

__“I hardly think that should be necessary,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “He’s only my servant.”_ _

____

_Excuse me?_

____

__She had to stifle a laugh._ _

____

__“Your identification looks in order. You’re clear,” the same Auror said. “But you’ll be accompanied.”_ _

____

__“Fine, yes, whatever.” Hermione was already striding inside, and the Aurors had to walk quickly to keep up. Tom was hanging back, like a good servant, but his end of the bond promised payback. Hermione knew it probably didn’t help that she was as amused as she was._ _

____

_You were asking for it, you know._

____

_Servant. Tch. I think you’re the one who’s asking for it._

____

__She bit back a smirk and was about to retort, but the two Aurors suddenly stopped, and she noticed with a start that they had arrived._ _

____

_Tom, I don’t know politics._

____

_I can do most of the talking. Watch for future reference. It’s almost like a repeated formula you might see in Arithmancy._

____

__She nodded, finally feeling on familiar ground. The Aurors waited by the door, and she and Tom stepped inside._ _

____

__The cell was cold, damp, and dark. The little sunlight the tiny window might have provided was blocked by dark clouds, and in the corner was a hard bed and a thin blanket. The floors were wet, probably from accumulated rain, and Hermione thought she heard a rat. She might have felt sorry for the man standing by the window, if the words _For the Greater Good_ hadn’t just popped into her head just then._ _

____

__Gellert Grindelwald was quite handsome, with light blond hair and quick blue eyes that shifted between her and Tom as they entered his cell. He had an air of suspicion about him, with a hint of melancholy. It was mostly suspicion, and certainty of his place. Even wandless, he radiated power._ _

____

__He smiled as Hermione cast a privacy charm. “I knew someone would come eventually.”_ _

____

__“We aren’t here to break you free,” Tom said. “But I’m sure you know that.”_ _

____

__“Oh yes, I do know, believe me.” Grindelwald laughed softly. “I am here to pay for my crimes, am I not? In my own prison. How humbling.”_ _

____

__Tom smiled. “You don’t seem much humbled to me.”_ _

____

__“I’m not. It’s all pretense, and politics. Even in prison, you never stop playing the game. But I’m sure you know that. You seem like a future politician. What is your name, boy?”_ _

____

__“Tom. Tom Riddle.”_ _

____

__“Ah. The last scion of your line, are you not? Truly a tragedy. Truly. And who’s the young lady?”_ _

____

___Go one and say your name. It’s all right._ _ _

____

__“Hermione Granger,” she said. Coolly._ _

____

__“Such a lovely thing. But I know you are not here for small talk. Everyone wants something from you. What do you want?”_ _

____

__Tom smiled. “The Elder Wand, as a matter of fact.”_ _

____

__Grindelwald smiled as well, a bone-chilling smile that made Hermione shudder. “You are after the Deathly Hallows.”_ _

____

__“Yes.”_ _

____

__“And are you planning, then, to take my place, for the greater good?”_ _

____

__“More or less,” Tom said. “We want to take down the Ministry of Magic.”_ _

____

__Grindelwald laughed outright. “Excellent. You have ambition. That will serve you well.” He shrugged lightly. “But I am afraid I cannot help you.”_ _

____

__“Why not?”_ _

____

__“Why, I do not have the Elder Wand. When I was defeated, the wizard who defeated me won my former wand over. I have no more claim to it than a harvest mouse.”_ _

____

__“You mean . . .” Hermione murmured, her eyes growing wide._ _

____

__“Yes, dear girl. The Elder Wand is in possession of Albus Dumbledore.”_ _

____

__She stared at him, feeling a wave of dread wash over her. From the bond, she could tell Tom wasn’t feeling much better. How in Merlin’s name were they going to get it now?__

 _ _Dumbledore wasn’t in any way fond of the Ministry, of course, no one was, but he was still Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, so he probably had no inclination to go against them. Not to mention he had just defeated Grindelwald, to protect the Ministry. No, he would most certainly not support what they were doing._ _

____

__An endorsement would have been nice, she supposed, but the true problem was that, according to Grindelwald, he was in possession of the Elder Wand and had no intention of giving it up, not willingly. A thought flitted across her mind, but she pushed it down; it was just too mad. They couldn’t disarm Dumbledore! He was currently the most powerful wizard alive. Not to mention that she still owed him for giving her a place to stay before the start of the school year, when she had nowhere else to go. She had no intention of going against him either._ _

____

__How were they going to go about this?_ _

____

__Tom’s end carried anger, strangely enough, although he was trying to repress it. And a thin vein of hatred. Hermione fought back a shiver. What had Dumbledore done to make Tom despise the man so much? It must have been horrid, but she couldn’t imagine Dumbledore doing such a thing. Dumbledore was just… Dumbledore. He was manipulative, yes, and secretive, but he had good intentions. Hermione forced it out of her mind and turned back to Grindelwald, who was watching them closely._ _

____

__“Thank you for your help,” Hermione said. “Really.”_ _

____

__“Oh, it was no issue,” he said. “Anything to get back at those bloody fools. It was all for the greater good, why couldn’t they see that? The imbeciles! They couldn’t see what was right beyond their noses.”_ _

____

__Hermione smiled. Now, Grindelwald as an ally . . . they would be unstoppable. He was the most powerful Dark wizard alive, and even if he had to remain in hiding, his help could mean the difference between winning and losing._ _

____

__Tom seemed to be thinking the same thing, but he shared a cautious look with her, and she understood. Maybe eventually, but not yet. They were not quite ready for his help. But his eyes promised her that it would be soon. Probably as soon as they found the Hallows. And became immortal._ _

____

__Salazar, Hermione was excited._ _

____

__Tom gave the tiniest of nods and turned so he was facing Grindelwald again, casting another privacy charm again. “Listen,” he murmured, “how would you like to be free?”_ _

____

__Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. “That would be nice, yes.”_ _

____

__“Hermione and I will have quite a lot of power, soon, or at least the potential for it,” Tom said quietly, “and we would appreciate your help.”_ _

____

__Grindelwald’s eyes gleamed, and although she couldn’t read his face, she sensed anticipation, and hope._ _

____

__And power. Dear Merlin, but he was powerful._ _

____

__“It’d be fairly easy to disguise you,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Simply Polyjuice Potion, or even a Glamor Charm. Quite easy. There are even ways to alter your voice, since people would recognize that, too.”_ _

____

__“I see. Ravenclaw?”_ _

____

__“Slytherin,” she said absentmindedly, her mind already racing with the possibilities._ _

____

__Tom smiled in approval. She didn’t know why his approval pleased her so much, and hated herself for it, but here she was. She scowled, then put on a mask of serenity that she didn’t feel._ _

____

__“Excellent,” Tom said. “We will return here, then, once we have attained the Hallows. But we need more than simply promises on both sides.”_ _

____

__Hermione knew what he was thinking. An Unbreakable Vow._ _

____

__She wondered how many of these they would make before they’d accomplished their goal._ _

____

__“Hermione, would you like to bond, or do you want me to?”_ _

____

__She blinked in surprise, then shrugged. “I can bond, I suppose.”_ _

____

__Tom nodded, and Hermione and Grindelwald linked hands. His grip was strong, for having spent two years in a solitary cell. Tom pulled out his wand and touched the tip to their joined hands._ _

____

__“Will you, Gellert Grindelwald, vow to never betray us, in any way, shape, or form, and provide us with whatever help you can offer?”_ _

____

__“I will.”_ _

____

__“And will you do whatever is necessary and best to take down the Ministry of Magic, according to our goals?”_ _

____

__Grindelwald gave a short nod. “I will.”_ _

____

__“Will you, Hermione Granger, return as soon as you have attained the Deathly Hallows, to free Gellert Grindelwald of his cell, to lead a free life?”_ _

____

__“I will.”_ _

____

__“And will you give Gellert Grindelwald the authority to make decisions that could affect whether or not our mission succeeds?”_ _

____

__“I will.”_ _

____

__The golden threads of light vanished, leaving marks on the backs of their hands, and Grindelwald gave the two of them a measured look. “Go get those Hallows.”_ _

____

__Hermione nodded back, and they left Grindelwald’s cell. The Aurors flanked them as they made their way back down the stairs toward the tall entrance. When they finally stepped outside, Hermione spun around and Obliviated each one before they could react. When she’d finished, one blinked. “Name and identification?”_ _

____

__“We were just leaving,” Tom said. The Auror nodded. Hermione took Tom’s arm, and they made their way back to the forest, where they Apparated back to the house._ _

o-0-o

___“Dumbledore!” Hermione exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Of course it was, he Disarmed him, but still! Of all people!”_ _ _

__

__“Don’t lose your cool,” Tom said, himself poring over their notes. “There is always a way around something.”_ _

__

__She shook her head. “It’s Dumbledore, though. There’s no way he’d support anything we’re doing, and we can’t just go in there and Disarm him!”_ _

__

__“I agree with your second point,” he said calmly, “but we could always accept an endorsement.”_ _

__

__Hermione gaped at him. “An endorsement? I thought you hated Dumbledore.”_ _

__

__“I despise the man.”_ _

__

__“Then why-”_ _

__

__“Hermione, think about it. Dumbledore, however loathsome, is the most politically and socially respected wizard in our society. If we get an endorsement from him, think what we could do!”_ _

__

__She stopped pacing long enough to stare, then resumed walking back and forth. “No, you think about it! We’re going to have Dumbledore and Grindelwald under the same roof. Dumbledore. And Grindelwald. Sure, Grindelwald’ll be disguised, but do you really think Dumbledore won’t be able to recognize him? And Grindelwald won’t want to work with him anyway. It’s going to be a madhouse!”_ _

__

__“Which is why they won’t ever be together. Neither of them will be aware that we’re working with the other. We’ll get Dumbledore’s endorsement, Grindelwald’s expertise, and both of their power. Of course, that is assuming Dumbledore will support us in the first place, but I’m fairly certain he will.”_ _

__

__“And why are you so confident, may I ask? Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald to protect the Ministry from what we’re about to do! Of course he won’t want another coup! Are you mad?”_ _

__

__Tom raised an eyebrow. “You’re aware that you’re the only person I would ever allow to talk to me like that.”_ _

__

__Hermione smirked and moved to sit next to him. “Being Lady Persephone has its privileges.”_ _

__

__“I was talking about you.”_ _

__

__“Well, being me has its privileges too.”_ _

__

__Tom shook his head, but he was smiling. “No, he won’t want another coup. But our ideology is quite different from Grindelwald’s.”_ _

__

__“We still want to take over the bloody Ministry!”_ _

__

__“Yes,” he said patiently, “but Grindelwald wanted to take over the Muggles. He believed we’re above them.”_ _

__

__“You think so too.”_ _

__

__“But we are not making that the focus of our rebellion. We’re instead focusing on the wrongs the Ministry has done.”_ _

__

__She nodded thoughtfully. “I mean . . . it’s worth a shot.”_ _

__

__“We won’t know until we try,” he smiled._ _

__

__Hermione met his gaze, and gave a short nod. “Let’s just talk to him. We can always Obliviate him if things go south, but we won’t be making this alliance last any longer than necessary, anyway.”_ _

__

__Tom frowned. “I don’t think there will even be an alliance. We just want him to give us the Elder Wand.”_ _

__

__“He’ll expect something in return.”_ _

__

__“Again, though, not if he endorses us,” he said quietly._ _

__

__Hermione sighed. “But how do we convince him of our cause?”_ _

__

__“I’m going to let you do the talking.”_ _

__

__She gaped, then closed her mouth, her teeth clicking audibly. “Me?”_ _

__

__“Yes, you. You’re as perfectly capable of talking as anyone else. Besides, he doesn’t trust me. He never has.”_ _

__

__“Why not?”_ _

__

__Tom smiled and gave a half-shrug. “Oh, perhaps it’s because I told him I can speak to snakes when I was still… still in that place… or because I was asking about Horcruxes at sixteen, or that around that same time he suspected I was closely connected to the Chamber of Secrets mayhem.”_ _

__

__“By closely connected, you mean that you were the instigator.”_ _

__

__“Of course.”_ _

__

__Hermione shook her head. “Well, I can’t say that I blame him, to be honest.”_ _

__

__“I never said he was wrong to not trust me. Although he did keep an annoyingly close watch on me after the Chamber incident. I actually suspected, when you first came here, seeing how close you were with the man, that he sent you to spy on my activities.”_ _

__

__“That’s what I was thinking, actually,” Hermione admitted. “I never reported anything to him, but he did call me to his office sometimes to see how I was doing. I never mentioned you.”_ _

__

__“Should I be offended?”_ _

__

__“Of course. I wasn’t trying to protect our alliance, or anything. I just never bothered.”_ _

__

__Tom smiled. “That wounds me.”_ _

__

__“As it should. Oh, that reminds me!” Hermione said suddenly. “Do you still have… you know, the - the Horcrux with you?” The last came out in almost a hushed whisper. She still found it hard to say the word aloud. It triggered memories from the war._ _

__

__He frowned. “I do. Why?”_ _

__

__“Well… were you wanting to, you know, um, destroy it?”_ _

__

__Tom stared at her. “If I do that, I lose a piece of my soul.”_ _

__

__“Oh, of course,” she said quickly. “I’d forgotten. There was one way to get rid of it without destroying anything, but if I could just remember -”_ _

__

__“Remorse,” he said quietly._ _

__

__“Oh,” she whispered._ _

__

__There was silence._ _

__

__“Do you -”_ _

__

__“No.”_ _

__

__Silence._ _

__

__“Right,” she said, rising. “I’m going to go to the library.”_ _

__

__“You do that.”_ _

__

Hermione grabbed the tiny pouch with all of the books and almost ran to the small study. _There has to be another way. There has to. I can still save him. I must!_

__

___She was researching long into the night._ _ _

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And here we go, to the start of Book 2! This is technically two separate books, but I'm keeping them together, mostly because I'm too lazy to go through the trouble of making a new one even though it takes about five minutes.
> 
> Anyway! I have huge plans for this book. I still want it to fit into 20 chapters, to mirror the first one, so some of the chapters will probably be pretty long. I still need to sort out the political mess that is the Ministry of Magic, figure out British government (I'm American; it makes no sense to me), and do lots and lots of research about the 1940s, because you can never be informed enough. But I do have every chapter outlined, so again, I won't have the trouble of writer's block, or writing myself into a plot hole or a corner I can't get myself out of.
> 
> More apologies for the lateness of this chapter. If you guys can just hang in there until the summer, I'll be able to upload a lot more frequently then! Thanksgiving is coming up, though, and I have an entire week off of school, so I might be able to post again . . . if my grandparents have their wifi turned on. They usually don't, but I might get lucky.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please comment, with questions, or corrections, or theories, whatever! I love hearing from you guys!
> 
> I love y'all, and have a really happy Thanksgiving!
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have about as much right to Harry Potter as Khan has to the _Enterprise_ , which is to say, none.  
> Note: I listened to Where Do We Go from Here? by Ruelle and Dark Side by Phoebe Ryan.

Hermione knew it was pointless to stress, but she found not stressing quite difficult. She knew Tom wasn’t stressed at all, but he was very calculated, always had been. If it didn’t help their mission, he ignored it. Which included stress. 

To distract herself, she pored over their notes and books she’d brought with her. She still found her mind wandering quite frequently, however, to the point that one minute she would be thinking about their predicament with Grindelwald and the next about her Kneazle cat, Delphi, who was safely in the care of Oraia. 

There were many things to stress over. How they would retrieve the Elder Wand from Dumbledore was a huge problem. She was absolutely certain he wouldn’t simply give it away, especially not to a couple of Hogwarts barely-grads who had ambitions larger than their abilities. And Tom thought she could simply reason with him? It was completely absurd.

Then there was the matter of Grindelwald. His help would be invaluable. There was no question about that. They would be highly dependent on his experience, his knowledge, his previous influence.

But he knew it.

What if he tried to take over?

No, she reminded herself, we made an Unbreakable Vow. Either he stays loyal, or he dies. There is no alternative.

But a Dark wizard such as he would have no trouble finding a loophole around their agreement. He not only had a perfect memory; he had time, and he would use that time and memory to his advantage.

Anything to gain more power. Anything at all.

She groaned and rested her forehead on her hand. Tom, who was outside, seemed to sense her mood, because a flare of annoyance flashed through their bond. _I thought I told you to go to bed._

_And I thought that you don’t have any control over what I do. I’m going to review these notes. I’ll be in bed in under an hour._

_No, you won’t. You’ll scour them for any remaining details that we might have missed, even though we have them memorized, and stay up until three in the morning doing it. Go to bed._

_No._

A flash of anger this time. _Hermione, you’ll be of no use with three hours of sleep._

_Of no use? No use? So I’m just a tool now?_

_You know that’s not what I - you know what? I found a book that is filled to the brim with new spells that I have not had a chance to try out yet. Get a good night’s sleep, and we can look at them tomorrow._

Hermione managed a smirk. _You’ve resorted to bribes now, Tom?_

Tom scoffed. _Anything to get you to go to sleep. You get far too little. Go to bed._

_Yes, my Lord._

_Salazar, you’re difficult._

She grinned. _I take pride in it._

Hermione blew out the lamp, and a wave of sleepiness hit her like an Erumpent. She yawned and stumbled over to her bedroom, where she quickly changed, brushed her teeth, and tied up her messy curls into a bun. She yawned again and climbed under the covers, blowing out her bedside lamp as well. By the time her head hit the pillow, she had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

o-0-o

Morning came bright and early, much to Tom’s displeasure. He, complete hypocrite that he was, had stayed up late to scan the book which, he had conveniently forgotten to mention, was full of Dark magic.

What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. And at least she’d gotten sleep. He deplored the dark circles she always had under her eyes. It distracted him from noticing how brown they were.

He rolled his eyes at himself as he climbed out of bed. Really, he was turning into Abraxas. And that wasn’t a good thing. The fellow's eyes turned into hearts every time he saw Cecily Parkinson.

He got dressed quickly, only pausing to comb his hair for approximately thirty seconds before stepping outside. His bedroom had a door that led into the woods, and he had used it in his insomniac wanderings quite often. A rush of cold air greeted him. Just like last year, it was strangely cold for it to be summer. It meant a harsh winter was coming.

The houses on either side of them had no idea they existed. Oh, the house existed, of course, but the residents believed that it was unoccupied. In fact, they thought it was haunted. He scoffed to himself. Fools, the lot of them. Muggles were so blind and stupid. He wondered why they hadn’t all been eradicated already. Sure, they had weaponry, technology, but wizards had magic. Not to mention the idiots were currently fighting in a war amongst themselves. Complete imbeciles.

Hermione stumbled out of the house a few minutes later, looking sleepy but well-rested. Tom shook his head. She was an idiot too, but in a completely different way. Of course, she was more intelligent than anyone, but she had no common sense, especially when it came to herself. Couldn’t she see that it was of no use to lose sleep she couldn’t afford to lose, in order to gain information they could just gain in the morning? A tiny voice niggled in the back of his head, telling him he only thought this because he cared, but he pushed it down firmly. 

Together, they walked into the woods for a while. He only stopped when they were deep inside and couldn’t see anything around them but trees. The leaves so shielded the sun that although it was rising, and quickly, it was still dark under the thick canopy.

“Ooh, is that the book?”

Tom showed it to her. It was the definition of a stereotypical spellbook he had read about while in that infernal Muggle orphanage. Bound in hard metal, embossed with silver and gold, strange runes carved around the border. When he flipped open the cover, it practically hummed with magic. He thought he could hear whispers.

“Where did you find this?” Hermione whispered.

Tom smiled. “It was in the Restricted Section, pushed to the back. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in a hundred years. It probably hadn’t. I cleaned it up some, and brought it with me.”

“It’s beautiful.” Her voice had a strange lilt, almost as if she were entranced by it. “May I?”

He nodded and handed it over. Her arms bent slightly from the weight, but she sat down and placed it carefully in the grass in front of her. She ran her finger down the spine, her mouth moving as she translated what it said.

Tom was satisfied, pleased even. At this rate, it wouldn’t even matter to her if he told her what type of magic the book contained. She was too trapped in its wonders to care. It was curious. It hadn’t had that effect on him at all. “Are you ready?”

Hermione gazed up at him, her head tilted. “Hm? For what?”

“To practice the spells, of course.”

She smiled. “Absolutely.”

She transfigured a twig into a stand with twisting vines, then placed the spellbook on it. Tom cast a few powerful privacy charms, as well as protection charms that would both repel Muggles and mask any suspicious activity, including light and sound. To the outside world, it would simply look like an empty wooded area, completely devoid of any activity.

Hermione drew a deep breath and opened the first page, then took a step back. “This is Dark magic.”

“And?”

“Well, I just - I don’t know-”

“Hermione, remember what I said earlier this year? It’s the intent that matters, not the magic itself.”

She stilled, and nodded quickly. “Of course, that’s totally logical. I’m not sure what came over me.”

“It’s completely natural,” Tom assured her. “I had qualms about it, at the start.”

She cast Lumos and read the first page. “Oh, this just requires a wand. No blood or anything.”

“Were you expecting blood?” Tom asked, amused.

“A little,” she admitted.

“Again, Dark magic isn’t evil magic. It’s simply obscure magic the Ministry has forbidden.”

“Well, they probably forbid it for a reason, didn’t they?”

“Hermione, think about it, for just one moment. Why would they censor it?”

“Well, because they don’t want us to use it.”

“Obviously. But why?”

She bit her lip in thought. “They don’t want us to know about it.”

“Because . . .” he prompted.

Her eyes shone with the passion she always exhibited when she discovered something. “It takes power away from us.”

Tom was pleased. “Exactly.”

Hermione nodded. “I’m ready now.” She read the page carefully. “Let’s see . . . this spell turns any object into stone. Oh, it’s just Duro, the Hardening Charm! Oh, but wait . . .” Her mouth parted. “It can also be used on living beings.”

“Interesting.”

She held her wand out, pointing at a tree. “Duravivere!” She flicked her wand upward, and the tree turned halfway to stone. “Fascinating. Duro never worked on anything living. Duravivere.” The stone creeped up the trunk and disappeared in the leaves. “Fairly easy to master, too.”

“Duravivere,” Tom murmured. The stone on his tree spread up a little more than hers. He finished the tree. “That will be a good one to have in our arsenal. What’s the next one?”

“Perdere hostium. It seeks out the enemy and destroys them instantaneously.” Her eyes widened. “How does no one know of these?”

Tom shrugged lightly. “No one cared to look. Let’s do this one together and see how much damage it will create.”

Hermione nodded. They held up their wands, Tom focusing on a tree a few meters ahead of them, Hermione concentrating on one a little further back. “Perdere hostium.”

The magic that flashed out of their wands shot to the trees, where they disintegrated, into ash. Tom was impressed, despite himself. The potential for this spell was astounding.

He glanced to the left to see Hermione gazing at the pile of ash, her mouth hanging open. He smiled slightly. It took so little to impress her. She would soon learn how much only using Light magic had restricted her, how much it limited her capabilities. Dark magic provided so much ability for growth, and power. Light magic was simply weak in comparison. So weak. But she would learn.

They spent the entire day working through the spellbook. It was a treasure trove, full of magic he had only heard of but had never performed or even experienced. It had not only spells, but blood magic (which was far more powerful than normal spells), soul bonds they had yet to try out, and even rituals that neither of them felt comfortable performing. However, the Dark spells and the blood magic worked together to create a sense of the power he possessed, a feeling he hadn’t experienced since he had created his Horcrux. Of course, this did not hurt at all like that had. That had been agony in its purest form. Would he still even need it? If they found all of the Hallows . . .

Tom was overflowing with the power the book had given him. He glanced over at Hermione, who was gazing at the graveyard of trees with the strangest look on her face.

Rapture, and anticipation.

It seemed she wouldn’t need a large amount of convincing after all.

Hermione caught his eye, sharing the excitement of their success with him. Her eyes held happiness, and exhilaration, and power. So much power.

She looked every inch the queen she soon would be.

Tom smiled slowly. Very, very soon. The power they would hold . . .

Oh, it would be very soon indeed.

o-0-o

Abraxas wrapped his coat more tightly around himself, walking quickly from one cobbled street to the next. He didn’t dare catch anyone’s eye. The rain and the cold helped with that, of course, but he felt far too paranoid to risk anything.

The letter had already been delivered (he thankfully hadn’t had to talk to her face-to-face; he’d just given it to the doorman and gone on his way) but he still had one more errand before he could head home. The sun was beginning to rise, and he realized he’d been out all night. Hopefully, this would all be worth it in the end.

He stopped outside of a dingy-looking pub in a forgotten street corner of London. He showed his identification before stepping inside to its greasy warmth, filled with equally-greasy customers. His eyes scanned across the room for one in particular, landing on the familiar features of the man he’d been searching for.

Abraxas slid into the booth across from him. “Morning.”

The ex-Grindelwald supporter glanced up at him. “Who are you?”

“Someone interested in your help,” Abraxas said easily.

“Really. What makes you think I'll give it?"

Abraxas smiled and lowered his voice. “Not even to take down the Ministry of Magic?”

The man’s eyes widened. “I’m listening.”

“Right. I know you have a lot of great contacts. Having a list of these contacts would be absolutely invaluable. Think you can manage that?”

“For a price.”

“Of course,” he said lightly. “Name it.”

“A hundred Galleons.”

“Done,” Abraxas said. He slid ten Galleons across the table. “Just a little incentive. Get me those contacts, and I’ll give you the rest.”

The man nodded quickly, and Abraxas pulled out a piece of paper. He scribbled a fake name and his contact information onto it, then handed it to the man. “Call me.”

The man nodded again, and Abraxas left the pub, a triumphant smile growing on his face.

o-0-o

“There you are!” Cecily exclaimed, jumping up from her chair as Abraxas entered the room. “Were you seriously out all night long? You know better than that!”

“Good morning to you too,” Abraxas yawned. He hung his coat on the rack by the door, as well as his hat, both of which were wet from the rain. Then he caught sight of an empty mug sitting on a table by the fireplace, and his eyes flicked up to Cecily’s. She had dark circles under her eyelids.

He smirked. “Did you wait up all night for me?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.” But there was a splash of pink on her cheeks that she was trying to hide.

“Aw, you really do love me!” Abraxas grinned. “I thought there was some sort of feeling in that cold, empty heart of yours.”

Cecily smiled despite herself. “You’re completely delusional.”

“You don’t think that. What if I’d died last night? Would you cry?”

“I’d laugh,” she said. “No, actually, I’d have been the one that killed you.”

Abraxas put a hand on his heart. “That wounds me, Cily.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

He laughed, then plopped onto one of the couches, putting his feet up onto the footrest. “Merlin’s beard, I’m tired.”

“Of course you are, you idiot! What did you expect?”

She sat down next to him, and he allowed himself a smile. “Well . . . I found our contact.”

Cecily sat up straighter. “Really? I thought he didn’t want to be found.”

“He didn’t. It took a lot of searching, and after I did find him, it took a whole lot of convincing to even get his help. And by convincing, I mean bribing.”

“How much?” she asked warily.

“A hundred Galleons,” he grinned.

Her mouth dropped open. “You didn’t try to bargain, or anything?”

“What for?” Abraxas shrugged and put his hands behind his head. “That’s what he wanted. I was expecting a lot more, actually. Besides,” he winked at her, “I’m a Malfoy.”

“You’re insufferable,” she said, shaking her head.

“You sure have a lot of adjectives for me this morning. Ridiculous, delusional, insufferable . . . It’s almost enough to wound my pride.”

“Your pride is overinflated as it is,” Cecily scoffed. “You have an ego as big as an Erumpent.”

“You still love me, though,” Abraxas grinned.

“Sometimes. Occasionally.”

“Hey,” he protested, as she laughed, “it’s more than that.”

“Isn’t,” she said, as he pulled her close to him.

“Is.”

“Isn’t,” she said softly.

“Is,” he whispered, and then they were kissing, and it was almost enough to make him forget that he was weary from exhaustion, and scared, and stressed, and a number of other things. For just that moment, all he could think of was Cecily, and that was enough.

“Ooh, Abraxas, yes! Oh, you’re so wicked!”

Abraxas jumped, and turned around in his seat to see Oraia grinning at them. “Oh, get out of here,” he grumbled.

She gave him an evil grin and winked at Cecily, who looked like she was trying to fight back a laugh. “You certainly took your time.”

“It was a big errand, okay? Go snog Dorian or something.”

She stared at him. “Dorian and I broke up weeks ago, you idiot. Get with the times. Merlin.”

“Hey, I don’t pay attention to that stuff. Go snog someone else then.”

Oraia stared at him a moment longer, then nodded. “I’m sure Rufus is available. Or Abaris. I’m not picky.” She grinned at Cecily again, who was laughing out loud this time, and waltzed out of the room.

Abraxas shook his head. “Bloody interruptions. Now where were we?”

“About to get you to bed,” Cecily said.

“That is most certainly not where we were.”

“Well, it is now. You need sleep!”

“Rubbish.”

She grinned at him. “If you go now, maybe we can continue our unfinished business another time.”

Abraxas winked and stood up, stretching. “I’m going, I’m going!”

“Good. I’m going to bed too. Maybe we’ll both be refreshed enough to get to work.”

“Yeah, like that’s a good incentive.”

“But a necessary one.”

“I suppose. Killjoy.”

“Lazy.”

“Buzzkill.”

“Arrogant.” She crossed her arms.

“No more than you.”

“You have a point,” she grinned. “Now. Go to bed!”

“Fine, fine!” Abraxas spun back around, before she could protest, and gave her a quick kiss. “Love you.”

She huffed. “Love you too. I guess.”

He laughed and made his way to where a long, dreamless sleep would hopefully be waiting for him.

o-0-o

Cecily’s fingers sped away on the typewriter, the machine printing out pages and pages of her document. She didn’t even pause to check for mistakes. Her article was due this evening, for tomorrow’s press. Their plan had finally begun.

It had taken months to get into the Daily Prophet’s good graces. They were incredibly picky about who they chose as journalists. Theirs were only the best of the best, and she had worked tirelessly to promote herself in their eyes. It had been difficult. Her bosses had been condescending, sneering, and overbearing. The hours had been terrible. She had been sent to fetch coffee, and wait on the other elite, experienced journalists, and write countless articles that had been refused on the grounds that she was too young and too ignorant to have any idea of what was going on in the Wizarding World.

But she was finally here. She finally had a purpose.

She would be able to write articles that would turn the peoples’ minds against the very government the newspaper was supposed to serve.

And it all started with this one article, singing the praises of the current Minister of Magic, Leonard Spencer-Moon.

She didn’t have a problem with the Minister himself. Spencer-Moon was a fairly good Minister, and certainly a just one. He had a good heart, that was for certain. In fact, he had even helped out a little in the Muggles’ worldwide war, and had presided over the entirety of Grindelwald’s War. No, she had nothing against the Minister.

It was more who he worked for that she had issue with.

She smiled to herself as she typed. The article was coming along splendidly. It was stuffed with praise, and only praise for the Minister. If she knew the people well, it would definitely rub them the wrong way. They were used to the press catering to the Ministry, but this would be far too much.

It would be just what they needed.

As she typed about all of the amazing things he’d done during the Global Wizarding War, and about how he could do no wrong, she was determined.

They would bring the Ministry down, one way or another. And if this would help, she would do whatever was in her power to make sure it contributed as much as possible.

They needed to pay.

o-0-o

Poison had always fascinated Winston Carrow.

It amazed him, how two poisons could look so similar, and have such different effects. How one could completely paralyze you, from the waist down, and another simply make you lose consciousness for just a moment, but they could be the exact same color and consistency. It awed him in a way that nothing else was able to.

Poisons possessed a dark beauty to him. Their elegance, and their clean, clear results, appealed to his darker side, the side that he tried, and failed, sometimes, to hide. He’d made himself immune to quite a few of the common poisons, but there was a huge world of toxins that he hadn’t even touched the surface of.

Which was why, when the Lady had requested that he be in charge of the poisonmaking, he had complied in a heartbeat.

Winston hummed to himself as he set one cauldron on low heat. The Lady, of course, was much the same way. She could look so innocent on the outside, but you never knew what she was hiding, until she was victorious and you were dead, probably before you knew what hit you.

He smiled. And she probably didn’t even know she possessed these capabilities. But she would learn, in time. And he would be here. Ready to serve his Lord and Lady.

His fingers absentmindedly brushed over the Dark Mark. It had hurt, but it had been worth it in the end. It would all be worth it in the end. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why they would be so successful, but he was certain of it, completely certain.

He envenomed the mixture, adding a tiny sprig of peppermint. It was his signature. All of the poisons he had ever created had the faint taste of peppermint. He would know, because he had tasted them.

Soon, at the request of his Lady, he would be able to add this to pies, tea, anything, and it would kill the enemy instantly. Without leaving even a little mess behind. Clean was how he liked it, and clean was how it would be.

Their enemies would disappear, one by one, and the path to the Ministry would be clear.

Just as he liked it.

o-0-o

It was pitch black outside, without even a little sliver of a moon to guide his path, but the man in the overcoat didn’t mind. He enjoyed the night. It refreshed him, energized him. Put a spring in his step. It was the only time when he was able to reflect, and he needed it nowadays.

He slipped into a nearby alley, fading into the shadows, as he was so skilled at, and lighting a cigar. He drew deeply from it, and it cleared his head. He needed to think.

There were rumors, of course, that Grindelwald had been broken free of his prison, but those were just rumors, lies, by those just seeking to spread trouble. Most often, such blatant falsehoods such as that were passed from mouth to mouth until the end result was completely different from the original. He didn’t have the time to pay attention to such things.

And he should know, having been a supporter of Grindelwald.

It was truly a shame that that had ended as it did. Gellert Grindelwald was clever as a fox, and so charismatic. The man could still remember the pull, the yearning to join his forces, as he’d called out everything that the man had desired, and promised that it would become reality.

Such empty things, promises. And yet, how powerful they were, that they would make a man drop everything in his life, things that he’d previously held dear, to seek them.

He gave a bitter laugh and gazed up at the night sky, overcast with low-hanging clouds. Of course, all of that had been ruined by Albus bloody Dumbledore. In one stroke, he’d destroyed everything the man had valued, all of his ideology, his beliefs, his ambitions. Now they were locked away in Nurmengard, with the man who had sworn to make it all happen. His life had been locked away there, and now he was stuck, hopping bars, getting low-paying jobs, growing more and more angry.

The man wanted revenge.

He wanted it now.

He wanted to see Dumbledore illuminated by a flash of green light, wanted to see his corpse fall to the ground.

He yearned for this.

He desired this.

He would seek after this until it became reality.

The man realized, abruptly, that he had bitten clean through the cigar. He blew it out and tossed it. No matter. Times were changing, and he needed to change with them. He couldn’t remain stuck in the past.

But he could do this one last thing. One last favor to Grindelwald. The pureblood he’d pledged his allegiance to. The war wasn’t over yet.

It had just started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey guys! Turns out, my grandparents cancelled Thanksgiving because of Covid, so we're just having it at our house. But that also means I was able to get this chapter out to you guys, so look on the bright side of life, right?
> 
> Again, have a super happy Thanksgiving, count your blessings, and don't forget to post a comment!
> 
> Love you guys, and thanks for reading!
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. That belongs completely to J.K. Rowling. (I finally could get an update out! I wish I could say _I'm not falling behind or running late_ , but...)
> 
> Note: I listened to Hardest of Hearts by Florence + The Machine.

Hermione was astounded by how far her power had come. It was more than astounded - she couldn't quite put her finger on the word, but she had advanced leaps and bounds even since they had first arrived at the tiny house. She spent almost all of her time in the woods, now, and the area of destroyed or disintegrated trees had expanded quite far since the day they had opened that strange book.

Tom had been right all along, she realized. Light magic really did limit one's capabilities. And as long as she didn't use her newfound power in a negative way, she would be fine. Right? Right.

There was still one huge problem. The Horcrux.

She wouldn't take Tom's excuse for an answer. Oh sure, it wasn't hurting anything, besides his humanity and his ability to love and pretty much everything that made life beautiful. She wouldn't have it. She was going to get rid of it, one way or the other.

The problem was, the only way she could destroy the Horcrux without destroying the soul was through remorse. And she should know, having aided in the destruction of most of Voldemort's during the Second Wizarding War. She knew almost all there was to know about the destruction of Horcruxes, and true remorse was the only way to keep the soul and destroy the container.

But, of course, Tom felt no remorse whatsoever, so that pretty much threw that solution out the window.

She sighed, turning yet another page in _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. She despised the book. Touching it made her feel like she was dousing her hand in some sort of thick, black liquid; it was filled to the brim with the Darkest magic imaginable. But this was the only book, that she knew of, that provided any information on Horcruxes. Even _Magick Moste Evile_ only skimmed the topic.

So, no remorse. But what other solution was there? Apparently none. And in addition, the process of true remorse was extremely painful, and it could even kill the wizard that was supposed to be cleansed through it.

Hermione scowled at the most unhelpful book, closed it with a thud, blew out the candle, and left her room for a walk in the woods to clear her head. The sound of the door closing behind her almost felt like a load was lifted off of her, and she breathed in the chilly night air. Up overhead, the moon shone silver, accompanied by thousands of twinkling stars. She smiled. Night was beautiful. She had no responsibilities, at nighttime. She didn't have to hide. She could just be herself.

Hermione walked over to the edge of the forest, gazing at the almost circular graveyard of trees, which were now simply piles of ash and dust. She murmured a spell she'd learned, watching with satisfaction as an arc of magic shot toward one of the trees, causing it to melt instantly, then vaporize. The residue of magic raised chills on her arms. She breathed it in, allowing herself to relax for the first time since they had arrived. Everything was so busy, and stressful, and complicated, that she reveled in the peace that this soft moment alone provided.

Hermione glanced down, and saw that she had been absentmindedly running her thumb over the Dark Mark on her left forearm. She gritted her teeth. She liked to forget as much as she could, when it came to the Mark. She had too many horrible memories from the war for her to be comfortable wearing it. It felt like a breach of her character.

She sighed. _There I go again_. She couldn't seem to shake thoughts of the war out of her head. Even as details from her previous timeline faded, those memories remained strong. It wasn't helping her deal with her trauma, that much was for certain. And yet, she didn't want to forget, either. It was part of who she was.

But how could she save him?

She leaned against a tree, pondering in the dark as a million possibilities ran through her head, all of them useless. How could she save someone who didn't want to be saved? It was impossible.

 _No_ , she told herself firmly. _Difficult, but never impossible. Nothing is impossible_.

Her eyebrows creased as her spirits sank lower and lower. Her stomach twisted into a knot, and her mind flashed back to all of the memories they shared, however much they were linked to their takeover. That link was one of the things that had bonded them initially, when they had agreed to ally with each other, and now that they were . . . complicated, it served only to make their relationship stronger as they grew in power.

That link . . .

Hermione gasped, startling some birds that flew away, chirping angrily. She watched them pass, hardly daring to hope. Could it really be that simple?

There was only one way to find out.

She drew a deep breath, her hand lifting up of its own accord to touch the Brand under her collarbone. She steeled herself, rose, and made her way back to the house, more determined than she had ever felt.

If Tom wouldn't comply to healing . . . she would do it herself.

The tiny house was dark when she stepped inside, with Tom asleep and all of the candles blown out. Hermione crept down the pitch-black hallway, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might leap out of her chest. She rubbed her sweaty hands on her jeans, cast a nonverbal Silencing charm, and opened the door to Tom's bedroom.

Her eyes flicked over to his sleeping form. If she knew him, and she thought she did, he would have cast protective enchantments. He despised being vulnerable in any way, shape, or form, and sure enough, she encountered charms that blocked others from reading his dreams, that protected his physical body, and even some that silenced anything he murmured in his sleep. It proved to be rather difficult, but she was able to get through all of them. Tom was many things, but a poor teacher was not one of them.

Having taken far too long, and yet not nearly long enough, she finally stood at the edge of his bed. Her wand was shaking, and she put it away hurriedly. She wouldn't need hers for this.

Slowly, softly, so that she wouldn't wake him, she took his hands in hers. Her mind racing from what she was about to do, her hands trembling, she established a one-sided link with him. She felt the familiar feeling of Tom, felt his dreamlike emotions pour through her, caught glimpses of his dreams. But Hermione pushed all of that aside, closed her eyes, and channeled.

She called forth every memory of her parents that still existed, every selfless act they had done for her. She pictured them having tea parties with her when she was a little girl, helping her with her Muggle homework, all of their vain attempts to learn from her about the Wizarding World. Not because they wanted to become versed in wizarding knowledge, but because they wanted to be more involved in her life. She remembered how their hugs were more comforting than those of anyone she had ever met.

She thought of Ron, and Harry, and the Weasley family. She pictured Harry's laugh, Ron's bright blue eyes. She pictured all of the time they had spent together, all of their adventures, all of the sacrifices they had made for her. She remembered the heartbreak in Ron's eyes, when she chose the mission over returning with him. She remembered dancing with Harry in the tent, and all of his emotional support when she was at the lowest point in her life.

She thought of the pain, the agony she experienced when she saw Harry lying limp in Hagrid's arms. She remembered crying onto Ron's shoulder, as he held her close, trying desperately not to cry himself, for her. She thought of the three of them, standing there on the ruins of the castle, finally free of bloodshed and violence and death. Finally free.

And she thought of Tom.

She recalled dancing with him at Slughorn's Christmas Party. She remembered their late nights, and kissing in the rain. She remembered their fights and apologies and study sessions and competitions and how the curve of her back perfectly fit against his legs. She remembered how he had trained her, and how he had taken a confused Muggleborn who was out of her time and shaped her into someone who would change the world. She brought forth every memory she had ever shared with him, happy and sad, angry and comforting, lonely and caring, because at the root of all of this was one strong feeling, a hope and a desperation that he was not able to feel.

Love.

Hermione finally broke contact, staring as the last glow faded from their hands. She had no idea what that had done, if anything, but she had given it her all, and that was as much as she could do.

She waited, and nothing happened.

It was suddenly too much, and she silently began to cry. She had poured her all into the link, and she was exhausted, and nothing they had researched that week had worked, and they had no idea how to get the Elder Wand from Dumbledore, and Tom still looked exactly the same as he had before, and before she knew it, she was sobbing, as she let out the result of all of her frustration, and grief, and stress, and lack of sleep, and failure. Failure.

That was always what she had been afraid of most. She could handle people mocking her. She could handle spiders, and snakes, and clowns, and Merlin knew what else, but Salazar forbid she fail. But that was what she had just done. She had failed, at what mattered most.

Hermione gave a gasping breath, then hastily worked on calming herself, running her hands through her brown curls even as she quietly sniffed. She closed her eyes, allowing a few more tears to fall, and gave a few more shuddering breaths before wiping her face. If Tom woke up, she couldn't be caught here. She turned to leave.

It was then that Tom collapsed, falling right out of the bed and onto the floor.

o-0-o

Hermione was not a nurse by any capacity, but she looked after him to the best of her limited ability. His coma blocked even magical contact from reaching him, which she learned after many, many attempts to contact him through their bond. Mostly, she watched over him, checked his rate of breathing regularly, and tried to nourish him through IVs she had stolen from a local hospital. They were much more rudimentary than the ones in her time, but they worked.

If Hermione was being honest with herself, she was terrified. She was way out of her ability range when it came to things like this. She had studied for just a small amount of time to be a Muggle doctor, when she'd decided shortly after the war that she wanted nothing more to do with magic (she'd retracted that sentiment rather quickly), but she only knew basic information and procedures. There was a hospital nearby, the one she'd stolen the IVs from, but she didn't dare bring Tom in; it would reveal their identity and, of course, the doctors wouldn't know the cause of the coma anyway.

Most importantly, though, she was scared that he wouldn't wake up.

She refused to let herself think about it - she was skilled at pushing down things she needed to face, so that they lay buried somewhere in the back of her mind and would resurface at various times to remind her of her trauma - but focused instead on the search for the Deathly Hallows. She felt that was what Tom would have wanted her to do, if he were conscious.

At least she was able to create a plan of action for obtaining the wand from Dumbledore. She knew the man well, knew that he wouldn't just give it up, so she decided that she wouldn't lie to him. She'd tell him the barefaced truth. If he supported their cause, which was unlikely, then he could just give them the wand, they'd give him a powerful replacement, and they could be on their way. And if he didn't support their cause, which was, honestly, the most probable thing to happen . . . well, she would improvise. She was skilled at that, too.

It was a terrible plan, but it was the best she had.

She glanced over to where Tom was lying. He'd been out for about a week, and she was trying hard not to panic. Every time she reached out with the bond, blocked by the magical coma of all contact with him, she felt pain. Immense pain. Pain so intense that he couldn't wake up if he tried. She couldn't even tell if he was healing or not, but she knew that his body was in pain deeper than that given to him by the Horcrux, and that it was her fault.

_No, don't think like that, she scowled. He'll wake up. He . . . he has to._

A week came and went. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. The book had specifically said that healing through the process of remorse was incredibly painful, and that it most often resulted in death. But he was Tom Riddle. She fiddled with the locket pendant, running her finger along the tiny emerald S. He'd wake up.

Hermione lost sleep. She gave up searching for clues and patterns, and spent almost all of her time at his bedside. She began to have hallucinations, imagining that she saw people, and Death Eaters, and Bellatrix. She feared being alone again. Abandonment. She never went out of the house, but Summoned food from local markets rather than leave him. It wasn't healthy. She didn't care.

Lack of sleep would be nothing to the pain she would feel if he never woke again.

So she waited.

o-0-o

Tom was in a white room. There weren't any windows or doors, and he knew that under normal circumstances he would feel trapped, but right now he was at peace. There didn't seem to be a light source, as far as he could tell, but the whole room seemed to be glowing. The thought of using magic didn't even occur to him. He wandered around, and was in a state of half-awakeness, as if that room was all he had ever known.

He walked around in this state of mind for an hour, or a century, maybe it was both at once, perfectly content, when he saw a distant light at the end of the wall. The light of the white room was warm and peaceful, but that light gave off a harsh, cold aura, a complete contradiction to here. Nevertheless, it was something different, a new development, so he approached it. Warily, of course. He had no idea what to expect.

As he grew nearer and nearer to it, the warmth of the white room slowly faded, until all he felt was the harsh strangeness of this new light. The white surrounded him, and he couldn't see anything, not even himself. He found he didn't mind that much either. But then it slowly faded into a new scene, completely blurry. It seemed he was in another room, a real one this time, and suddenly he felt pain, stronger than anything he had ever known in his life, and he screamed in his head, because he couldn't out loud.

Something slammed, and he was vaguely aware of another presence in the room, although he couldn't have known or even remembered who he or she was if he'd tried. All he knew was that that person touched his arm, and the pain vanished as quickly as it had come.

Tom lay there staring at the ceiling, his head spinning as the room slowly came into focus. It was indeed a real room, though he couldn't say where. It had a Muggle ceiling - what on earth was a Muggle? - and there were stationary pictures on the walls, of people he didn't remember, if he had ever known them in the first place. The walls were decorated with boring wallpaper, almost like an oatmeal color. And his head hurt.

He thought for a while. It seemed he had woken up from something. But what? Perhaps he had been in a coma. He had read of those, of people lying unconscious for two weeks or more. Sometimes, in those, peoples' minds wasted away to almost nothing, reduced to a vegetative state, or they woke up years and years after they'd first lost consciousness. His eyes widened, and he lifted up his hand. _Oh, he thought. I'm not old._

That presence stifled a laugh, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and he suddenly remembered that there was someone else in the room. He turned his head, laboriously, to see what she looked like. Curly brown hair, dark brown eyes, on the light side of tan. She was rather pretty, he supposed, if he cared about that sort of thing.

Tom was more interested in the necklace she wore. It was a rather curious necklace, with a long chain and a golden pendant that had an emerald S in the shape of a snake. He stared at it, and then it all came rushing back to him, except for her identity. He struggled to sit up, wincing with pain. Who in Merlin's name was that sitting next to him?

"It's all right, Tom," the girl said. She sounded nervous. "We're perfectly safe."

He frowned at her suspiciously. "What makes you think that?"

"Oh, Tom, don't tell me you don't remember me!" she cried. "I swear to Salazar, I was just trying to help; I didn't mean to get you in this fix! Please tell me you remember. Please."

She was crying, for some reason. Tom shook his head, trying to clear his muddled head. Her name was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn't seem to-

". . .Hermione?" That sounded right. Apparently it was, because she started crying again, and nodded wordlessly, and he suddenly remembered her smile. "Hermione." That was something familiar. He grasped onto it. "Hermione, how long was I out?"

"About four weeks." She sniffed, and he nodded to himself.

"That's not too bad, I suppose." He thought of something, another memory regained. "Would it be possible to send some memories through our. . . we have a bond, right? A soul bond? Send some memories through the soul bond, and see if it triggers anything."

"Was that an order, or a request?" Hermione asked, almost tentatively.

He frowned. "A request. Why, what's wrong?"

She suddenly burst into a huge smile. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

And all of a sudden, his mind was flooded with memories of them dancing during what looked like a Christmas party, and the symbol of what, if he saw it correctly, was the Deathly Hallows, and them leading a meeting, and he was reeling from the abruptness of what he did remember.

He looked up to see her anxious frown. "Oh Merlin, Hermione."

"So you do remember!" She gave a shuddering gasp and started to cry again, and she threw her arms around him, as if she never wanted to let go. His arm wrapped around her of its own accord, even as intense pain flashed through him.

Tom shook his head. "Women and their bloody emotions."

Hermione gave a half-laugh, half-sob. "Oh, honestly. You're such a misogynist."

"I'm really not."

"You absolutely are."

"I'm rather progressive, actually, letting you be one of the two leaders of a rebellion."

"Still misogynistic overall."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, shut up," Hermione laughed. She rose, dusting herself off. "Can you walk?"

"Yes, I can walk," Tom muttered, exasperated. He pulled over the bedspread, put his feet on the floor, and promptly fell.

"Clearly you can't," she scoffed. She hurried over, as if she were going to support him. Preposterous.

He glared at her. "I don't want your help." He pulled himself up, leaning on a nearby dresser, and put his weight on it to stay upright, proceeding to lean against it as he made his way to the door.

"If you insist," she said, opening the door for him. "But that dresser doesn't extend forever, you know."

"Quiet, Granger. I don't need your input."

"Sure thing, Riddle, and I don't need your attitude."

He stared at her. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing," she said, smiling sweetly as he fell against the doorframe and leaned on it to balance.

"You'll pay for that later."

"I'm sure I will, and good morning to you too."

"You're absolutely impossible."

"I know."

o-0-o

After a long, laborious trek to the kitchen, where Tom sat nursing his wounded pride, Hermione was busy making him a cup of strong tea. "So," he said, watching her carefully, "what happened?"

She refused to meet his gaze. "Er. . ."

"It feels so different," he said quietly. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but I feel almost . . . lighter. Almost like I did before I-" He cut off abruptly, his eyes widening as a sudden thought occurred to him, and he glanced up at Hermione, who was pale but had a firmness to her jaw.

That was not a good combination.

"Hermione, what did you do?"

She swallowed. "Right. About that. Um, I kind of got rid of it. Tea?"

"Yes, thank you, and you got rid of what?" He knew his voice sounded more dangerous than usual, but he didn't care.

"You. . . you know exactly what it was."

His eyes bored down into his tea, which was already getting cold in the early fall chill. "And how did you do that?"

She murmured something that he couldn't quite hear, but he'd had a sinking suspicion anyway, although he still couldn't quite process it. "Through remorse," he repeated slowly.

He'd killed for that Horcrux. He'd sacrificed part of his soul for it, for immortality. And he'd had another one lined up, his soul still having been fractured from when he'd killed his worthless Muggle of a father.

And all for nothing, apparently.

He clenched his jaw. "Where's the diary?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Gone."

It took all of his self-control to just sit there. "Gone. . . where?"

She drew a visible deep breath. "I sort of threw it in the river."

"You threw it in the river."

"Yes."

Tom was clenching his mug so hard that he was surprised it hadn't broken already. "Let me get this straight. You crept into my bedroom while I was sleeping, broke through my enchantments, somehow made me feel remorse that I don't feel at all, destroyed my Horcrux, which was our only backup, put me in a coma for a solid four weeks. . . and threw the diary into the river."

"I - yes. Yes, I did." Her head shot up defiantly, and her eyes flashed with anger. "It was destroying you, Tom. It had ruined your humanity. I. . . I saved you."

"Oh, you _saved_ me, did you?" he sneered. "You _saved_ me. How bloody Gryffindor of you, to think I needed _saving_. You're so blind, Hermione! You don't look to the future; you're only focused on the rewards the present will give you. What if we never find those mythical Hallows of yours? That Horcrux would've been the only thing saving me, and perhaps eventually you, from dying."

She shot up. "And is death such a bad thing? People die, Tom! It happens! It's just the cycle of life; we're born, we live, we die, just as Muggles do, and yes, Tom, I just compared us to Muggles, and don't you dare say anything, since your hatred is just because of your father, and nothing else."

Tom got up too, albeit shakily, but his fists were clenched. "Don't mention my father. Don't you dare; you know nothing, and I don't want to think about him right now. And maybe, Hermione, it doesn't _have_ to be the normal state of things! Why can't anyone see that? We're wizards; we are _above_ your precious Muggles. Why should we have to die just as they do? What if we could discover a permanent way to stay here, so we never have to venture into that unknown that's even more eternal than immortality?"

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "Are you listening to yourself? How mad would you have to be to want to stay _here?_ You've seen the ghosts that chose to stay here; almost all of them regret it, because it's cold here, Tom, and harsh, and there's no love anywhere, and there has to be somewhere in this universe better than this. Somewhere!"

"Again, you're thinking in the present! Think of all of the magic you could accumulate! All of the power! If we were immortal, we'd become the two most powerful wizards to ever walk the earth. We could rule _everything!_ Does that mean nothing to you?"

"But what's the point of it all?" Her voice rose angrily. "Where's the meaning of life, if you have to do it forever? Eventually you'll run out of things to learn, or things to see, or even countries to rule, and you'll be stuck here, with no escape, and that's terrifying, Tom, because there's no end!" She was yelling now, and from what he could tell from the bond, she didn't care.

His eyes grew hard. "What can be more terrifying than knowing you're going to stop existing someday? What's the point of living, if at any time you could get killed, or murdered, or even die of old age? What good will all of your precious knowledge do you then?" He suddenly realized he was shouting.

"It's not about knowledge, why won't you listen? It's about the experience, and the love, and there's so much more to our existence than ambition, and maybe that doesn't make me a Slytherin, but I don't bloody care, Tom, I don't, because there's more to life than what you can get out of it!"

"But there's not!" he seethed. "Life is what you make it, and all that matters is our ambition, because that's all that will get us anywhere. Love, experiences, all of that doesn't matter if you have no drive to succeed, or go up in life! And being immortal is the best way to accomplish that! And maybe you can't see that, being mostly Gryffindor, and all self-righteous, bloody convinced you have everyone's best interests in mind, but you should have just enough Slytherin in you to understand self-preservation! Or perhaps you don't, considering your history of reckless adventures."

"I thought we agreed to never bring that up," she said bitterly, her eyes flashing fire in a way that made him yearn for her and grow more furious with her at the same time. "You swore to never mention that again, Tom!"

"You swore to never mention my father, and look where that got us!"

"I -" she clenched her jaw. "I just don't want to lose you, alright? There. I said it. Are you happy now? Are you bloody _happy?_ "

She started to walk away, but he pulled her to him and kissed her. She resisted at first, but soon kissed him back, and it was like she was pouring her all into him. It was intoxicating, and passionate, and they emptied out their anger and frustration and worry into it, and he felt utterly blinded by passion, and her.

He broke the kiss. "Are you sure you-" but he didn't get to finish, because she only kissed him more fiercely, and as he kissed back, he felt her tears, and her end of the bond grew cold and frantic, as though she thought that if she stopped, he would disappear forever.

Tom reached up a hand and gently ran his fingers through her hair, even as she shuddered into him, and she buried her face into his shoulder. "I can't lose anyone else, Tom," she whispered. "I - I can't."

"You won't," he said quietly, holding her closer to him. "You won't."

He should have remembered that one doesn't make promises one can't keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Kudos to you who got the Thor reference!
> 
> I hope you have a wonderful winter break, and don't forget to leave a comment! I love hearing from you :)
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: "Once an idea has taken hold of the brain, it's almost impossible to eradicate." Including this one. So, although I don't own the characters or the world, I'm writing with them anyway, because "even the smallest seed of an idea can grow." (Yes, I just watched Inception, don't come at me.)  
> Note: Listen to Therefore I Am by Billie Eilish and Castle by Halsey! I already recommended the second one in the last book but it fits this chapter too perfectly.

"This is madness," Hermione muttered, staring at her untouched eggs. "There's no possible way this is going to work."

"It certainly won't with that attitude," Tom said, not even looking up from the newspaper he was reading.

She glared at him, even though she knew he couldn't see, and mentally recited all of the different rules for closing off one's mind, while also internally panicking.

_Calm down, Hermione. You're only about to try to take or receive the bloody Elder Wand from Albus bloody Dumbledore himself. Nothing to stress about._

_Oh, do shut up. I can still hear you._

She blinked and realized she hadn't closed off her end of the bond. "Oh. Sorry." She looked up just in time to see him roll his eyes and sent him another glare he wouldn't see. "I'm just stressed, alright? This isn't going to work at all. We're completely destined for failure."

"Well, at least you're confident," he said dryly, turning another page in the paper. "Oh, here's an article by Cecily."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she stood up, moving over to his side of the table. "It's one of the shorter ones." She took the paper and began reading it aloud. " _Minister Spencer-Moon: Skillful, Shrewd, and Strong. By Cecily Parkinson._ Nice alliteration," she smiled. Tom motioned for her to continue, and she cleared her throat.

" _Recently, we were plunged into a global war, led by the cruel and powerful Gellert Grindelwald. Brother fought against brother as everyone's beliefs and ideals were put to the test, and we wizards and witches held our own kind at wandpoint. Many died, and many more are currently facing time in Azkaban, or have already been sentenced. It was a time of distrust, and manipulation, and fear._

" _But throughout all of that, our Minister, Leonard Spencer-Moon, never lost his head, proving himself to be just, merciful, and above all, capable. However, he is rather underappreciated for the extreme efforts he took to ensure our safety, to ensure the end of the war. Most do not know what went on behind the scenes, all of the negotiations, critical decisions, and sacrifices he had to make in order to keep the people of our world safe._

" _We here at the Daily Prophet would like to thank you, Minister, for being our savior in a harsh and terrifying time, and for ensuring that every little boy and girl has a home to go to._ "

Tom smirked. "I believe that is the most nauseating, disgusting thing I have ever had the misfortune to read."

"Which means she's doing her job perfectly." Hermione laughed in delight. "We're really under way, Tom! We're actually doing this!"

Tom smiled at her. "Did you ever doubt we would?"

She returned his smile. "Quite a lot, actually. But I don't anymore."

He nodded, taking her hand and squeezing it. She laced her fingers through his, drawing some of his courage, and gripped her wand. "Okay. Let's do this."

"You remember his address?"

"Yes."

"Good luck, then."

"I'll need it." She gave a short nod and Disapparated.

When she appeared in front of Dumbledore's house, she was met by a torrential downpour. She gasped and hurriedly conjured an umbrella. "Little good that'll do me now," she muttered, casting drying spells on herself. All the same, she held it carefully over her head as she stepped up to the front door.

"Okay." Hermione drew a deep breath. "You can do this. Remember your Lady Persephone training, but you're still Hermione on the outside. Otherwise he'll get suspicious. Have your mind closed at all times, since he's an extremely skilled Legilimens. And don't, under any circumstances, let him see the Mark." She closed her eyes, opened them, clenched her jaw, and knocked.

The door opened, and she saw Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes. "Ah, Miss Granger. I've been expecting you. Come in, come in." He held the door open for her, and she stepped inside to his home's comforting warmth. "Make yourself at home."

"I'm terribly sorry for coming on such short notice," she said hurriedly, placing her hat and coat on the coat rack. "I would've let you know earlier if I could."

"Make no trouble about it; it's quite alright. Would you like some tea?"

"That'd be nice." She shivered; the air was cold, especially for August, and she wasn't used to it. The rain certainly didn't help. "May I sit?"

"Of course."

She sat, taking the hot tea gratefully, and set it on the table as she pulled off her gloves. "Again, I'm sorry for bothering you."

"I had no other plans for today," Dumbledore said lightly, then changed the subject. "I was very pleased you received so many N.E.W.T.s. Not surprised by any means, but pleased nonetheless."

Hermione smiled graciously. "I had excellent teachers, sir."

"Hogwarts hires only the best. However, Miss Granger, I'm quite sure that your N.E.W.T. scores were not what brought you here today. You seem like you have something to request of me."

"Yes, Professor," she said nervously, the title coming out before she could stop herself. Dumbledore smiled but let her continue. "It's something quite major, actually, and not something at all befitting a teacher-student relationship."

"What is your request?" he asked gently.

"I-" She swallowed. "I need the Elder Wand." _Too blunt, too blunt, that was way too blunt. What were you thinking?_

She glanced up. All of the twinkle was gone from her former teacher's eyes, and he looked solemn. "I see. And what, pray, were you desiring to do with it?"

"Oh dear Merlin. Um. . ." She struggled to come up with the words.

Dumbledore had a knowing, and sad, look on his face. "I see. You're after the Deathly Hallows."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, Professor, I am."

He nodded, looking uncharacteristically serious. "Would this have anything to do with your predicament earlier this year?"

"You mean when I was hit by that curse? Well, that's part of it," she said reluctantly. This was something she hadn't even told Tom, but the words kept coming out and she found she couldn't stop herself. "I just want to see them again. Harry, Ron, Ginny, all of them, I lost all of my friends in the space of twenty-four hours and they're my family, that's what happens when you fight in a war together, and I can't bear the thought of not ever seeing their faces again, and I know they won't be the same people as they were when I left because I created an alternate timeline or something, but I want to see their faces one more time. Just once." She suddenly found she was crying, again, and she frowned and wiped at her eyes quickly. She was so bloody tired of crying.

Dumbledore nodded again, his eyes sad. "I fought in a war too, Miss Granger. I lost my closest friend. Quite frankly, I understand how you feel better than most, so believe me when I say I offer you my condolences."

Hermione smiled tremulously. "Thank you, Professor."

"However, you said that was only part of the reason you desired the Deathstick?"

She drew a deep breath. "Yes, sir. I - we, I mean, Tom and I-"

"Ah, you've been getting involved with Tom Riddle. Pardon my interruption, but that tells me quite a lot." He rose. "My apologies, but I cannot grant your request."

"Wait, sir, you haven't heard the entire story!" Hermione said desperately. "You have no idea how hard we've worked, how-"

"Toward immortality, yes," Dumbledore said acidly. "It is a dangerous path, Miss Granger, and one you should steer clear from at all costs. Good afternoon."

Before she could blink, she found herself, hat and coat back on, standing out on the porch. In the rain. Scowling, she pulled out her umbrella. She'd known it wouldn't work! Why hadn't Tom believed her? She glared at nothing in particular and pulled out her wand, incinerating random plants as she walked in an attempt to vent out her anger. _Of all the silly - foolish - stupid - idiotic - ugh!_

_I take it you didn't get the wand?_

_No, I didn't get the stupid wand. I should've known better than to mention your name. I just didn't think!_ She stuck her wand back in her pocket. _Merlin's pants. He didn't even let me finish._

_Tell him the whole story._

_I - what? Are you mad?_

_Listen. Go back there and knock on his silly Muggle door and tell him the full reason. Tell him about the Ministry._

_Yes, that'll work splendidly. Next thing you know I'm in Azkaban for treason._

_Not necessarily._

_This whole thing is ridiculous. At this point I'm convinced it'd be easier to make Horcruxes._

Silence.

_I'm making a joke. Merlin. Also, why do I have to do this job?_

_You believe it'd work if I did?_

_Of course not. I was just whining. You owe me, though, alright?_

She felt his amusement. _What's my payment?_

_I'll think of something_ , she promised.

_Oh, I'm terrified._

_You should be. I'm Hermione Granger._

_I'm sure you'll have me sorting books or some other such rubbish. Which, of course, I will refuse to do, since I'm Tom Riddle._

_Hm, but who will win? I think we may be evenly matched._

_Shall we duel?_

_Sure. The winner determines the punishment._

He smiled, the same smile he'd had when she'd duelled Macnair back at her first meeting. _Then may the odds be ever in your favor._

Hermione shook her head as his end of the bond shut off. She was way in over her head with him.

She knocked, and Dumbledore answered. "Miss Granger, I believe I already asked you to leave."

"We want to take down the Ministry of Magic."

Dumbledore stared at her for a moment, his eyes unreadable. "Come inside."

She was soon back in front of the fireplace of his home, but she didn't bother removing her coat this time. _Lady Persephone, Hermione_ , she reminded herself. _Call on everything Tom taught you. Everything. You won't fail this time. You can't afford to fail. Too much rests on it._ She took a deep breath, and schooled her face into a neutral expression as she turned away from the flickering flames to face her former Headmaster and teacher. _It's just acting._

"What is this about the Ministry of Magic, Miss Granger?" he asked. Very carefully.

_Tread lightly_ , she thought. _He's on the Wizengamot._ She steeled herself, but forced her face to remain calm. "Yes, sir. This was what I had been planning to tell you, what Tom and I have been working at since Hogwarts, when we first allied."

"Go on." Dumbledore appeared cautious, but she had no idea what was going on inside his head.

"We made this alliance first near the end of the first term, since we both had common interests against the Ministry. He wanted power, and I wanted. . . I wanted revenge." She allowed a small smile to cross her lips. "I know it's rather unlike me, Professor, but I feel I had - have, rather - good cause." She waited. _Talk less. Smile more._

"Which is?" Dumbledore prompted.

"Oh, I could go on about the specific reasons for hours. What matters most, what I feel you'll care the most about, Professor, is the corruption."

"Nearly all governments are corrupt, Miss Granger, and ours is no different. However, that is hardly cause for an uprising. The Ministry has protected us ever since its inception."

"It has hardly done a splendid job of that as of late," she said wryly. "We've had to protect ourselves, and especially in my time, where it was only a place of greed and pureblood politics, and the children had to fight the war the Ministry was supposed to."

Dumbledore seemed troubled. "I agree that it is hardly the environment for saints, but it is still here to keep us safe. It may not do a perfect job of it, but-"

"Not a perfect job? Professor, crime rates are going up. The economy is collapsing. The other Ministers can see how weak we are, how much we've struggled to collect ourselves after the war, which doesn't bode well for our alliances. It's not just that the Ministry isn't protecting us; they're completely failing. And they're exchanging Galleons behind their backs while they're doing it." She collected herself. Lady Persephone is patient. Lady Persephone does not interrupt. Lady Persephone has manners.

She smiled. _But Lady Persephone made many good points. I wish I was this articulate in real life._

"What would you change?" Dumbledore asked, troubled.

"It's outdated," she pointed out. "Old systems and traditions have corrupted its original purpose, so it's now a breeding ground for politicians to gain influence through bribes, rather than experience." Careful now. This will be risky. "First off, I would disband the Wizengamot." Dumbledore's eyes startled. "I know you're a member, Professor, but they hardly get anything done, and I think another setup would be far more efficient. I would have a check and balance system for the Minister; he has almost complete power. I would offer more jobs to half-bloods and Muggleborns, since heavy dissatisfaction is brewing in their circles. I'd get rid of Azkaban completely, since it's basically a glorified torture chamber, and have regular prisons instead, warded against magical use. And I would free all of the house-elves," she added firmly. "They have no cause to be enslaved. That's not everything, of course, but those are my strongest points."

Dumbledore was rubbing his short auburn beard, looking very troubled indeed. "And where do the Hallows come in?"

"Because we need to be immortal to achieve this," she said simply. "It would be impossible to implement all of these changes in one lifetime, win public satisfaction, and not have said changes reverting back to how they were."

He bowed his head in thought, then looked up, a frown in his eyes. "There appears to be one major flaw to your plan, Miss Granger. The people know the Elder Wand belongs to me. I do not believe they would react well to seeing it in the possession of another."

Hermione smiled. She couldn't help it; that was as close to an agreement as someone, especially Dumbledore, could get to without giving direct assent. "And that, Professor, is not even a flaw, because we have a solution to that as well." She slowly reached her hand into her tiny bag, on which she'd used an Undetectable Extension Charm, and pulled out the duplicate Elder Wand. She had slaved over it, had read countless books on wandmaking, had lost sleep she would never get back, and had finally produced something she was incredibly proud of.

"This is impressive work," Dumbledore said, rather reluctantly.

"They won't be able to tell the difference between the two, especially not on camera," Hermione said. "And I even used the original construction of the Elder Wand. The core is Thestral hair, it's made of elder wood, and is exactly fifteen inches long. Which means, although it won't have the runes the Peverells inscribed, it will be close to the power the Deathstick has, though not the power of a Hallow." She was nothing if not a perfectionist.

Dumbledore still seemed troubled. Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't wanted to do this, but if he was still not convinced, she would need to. _For Harry._

"Professor," she said, gently, "don't you want to leave the past behind you? As long as you have that wand, a piece of Gellert stays with you."

His eyes shot up. "How do you-"

"Nevermind that. Do you truly want a reminder of him, for the rest of your life? These Hallows destroyed your life. Just leave it all in the dust. You can start fresh." She put all of her powers of convincing, everything she possessed, everything Tom had taught her, into those words, and she saw something change in his eyes. He didn't even seem to be aware of her now. She swallowed, but continued softly. "Leave Gellert. Leave Ariana. Leave your past. . .with me. And you won't have to feel guilty anymore."

Dumbledore shuddered, then slowly, shakily, placed the Elder Wand in her outstretched hand. Hermione felt power surge through her, and she smiled, a smile of triumph, but kept her voice quiet. "You can forget now. You're a new man."

He nodded, taking the fake, and it seemed a great load had finally lifted from his shoulders. His eyes were serious, but he gave her the smallest of smiles. "Thank you, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled back, and left the house.

She stood outside a moment, allowing the rain to soak through her, and clenching the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, she Apparated to the kitchen of their small house.

Tom startled so hard that he dropped the mug he'd been holding. "Hermione, you're soaked."

"Does it matter?" she asked gleefully. "Look!" And she held out the Elder Wand.

Tom stared at it, and suddenly she was in his arms as he laughed, and he picked her up and spinned her around. She laughed too, and finally facing each other, both grinning like idiots and knowing it, his lips were on hers and she hooked her legs around his waist and they had the Wand of Destiny and no one was going to take it away, no one.

They would make sure of that.

O-O-O

Cecily had made up her mind. She had been avoiding it for some time now, convinced she wouldn't like what she found, but she had to do it. Before Hermione came home.

"Oraia," she whispered. The girl didn't budge from the couch. Cecily peeked over and saw she was asleep. Oh well. This was important. Oraia could sleep later. "Oraia!"

"What," Oraia said groggily. "What's wrong?"

"Shh! Just get up, and follow me. We need to get Lucy, too."

"Not at this hour," Oraia grumbled. "Let me go back to sleep."

"It's about Hermione."

That woke her up. "Fine, I'll go get Lucy."

"Why, thank you, Oraia."

"Shut up."

Cecily laughed as they both creeped up to Lucretia's temporary bedroom. Soon she was up as well, though not happy about it. Cecily drew them into a closed off hallway and cast privacy wards.

"What's all this about?" Lucretia asked, frowning. "I'm sure anything you want to say, you can say in front of the boys."  
"Not this," Cecily said grimly. "I've had a sneaking suspicion for a while. Too many things add up. But I need proof. And in order to get proof, I need witnesses and evidence. You're my witnesses, and the evidence lies in . . . Hermione's bedroom."

Oraia looked frightened. "What do you mean, Cily? What are you talking about?"

Cecily drew a deep breath. "I don't think Hermione's who she says she is. I don't think. . .I don't think she's from our time."

Both girls startled. "What in Merlin's name makes you say such a ridiculous thing?" Lucy snapped, although she was white. "Are you seriously suggesting that she - she time-traveled here?"

"Precisely," Cecily said. She fingered a strand of her long brown hair, trying to hide her nervousness. "We're going to search her room tonight, and see if we come up with any evidence."

"Are we legally allowed to do that?" Oraia asked in a small voice.

Cecily nodded, and they seemed to draw deep breaths at the same time. "Let's do this," Lucretia said.

Without further ado, Cecily turned and headed straight for Hermione's room, the girls trailing behind her.

The door was ajar. Cecily pushed it open, and it creaked. Oraia jumped, then steeled herself. "Lumos."

Lucretia hurried to light the various candles around the room, which cast a flickering light on the Lady's bedroom. It was perfectly neat, not a single item out of place. Cecily wouldn't have expected anything less.

"Oraia, you search her dresser. Lucretia, her closet. I'll check her nightstand."

They nodded and scattered. Cecily drew close to the small nightstand by Hermione's bed. There was a thin layer of dust on it. Natural, since she'd been gone for a few months. Nothing was on the top except for a book titled _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. She opened the first drawer and looked inside.

It was almost empty. The only things inside were more books and a note from Tom. She picked it up and read it silently.

_H -_

_I am aware that you will already know what this is, but I would like to invite you to join my study group. We meet in the place where everything is hidden on the fifth day of the week, at the eighth hour._

_Please reply as quickly as you can._

_\- T_

Cecily smiled. Tom was very discreet, always had been. If this note fell into the wrong hands, it could have meant the end of the Knights of Walpurgis. Dumbledore might have even gotten involved. Her hand moved up to the Mark of her own accord, and she brought it down quickly, placing the note carefully back in the drawer.

She opened the second one. Nothing here, save for more books. She frowned. Where were all of her personal items?

"Guys, come here," Oraia said. Her voice sounded strange.

Cecily hurried over to see her holding a moving photograph. She took a closer look. Hermione appeared the age she would be in her sixth year, and she was in what looked like the Gryffindor common room. Her mouth fell open. "I thought she was homeschooled. But she's been here before, and I don't remember her."

"Look there," Oraia said.

On either side of Hermione were two boys, who also looked her age. One was tall and gangly, with the reddest hair she'd ever seen and freckles. He was quite handsome. The other was a bit shorter, but stocky, the build of a Quidditch player. He had very messy black hair, green eyes, glasses, and a strange scar on his forehead that looked almost like a lightning bolt. "He looks like Tom," she said aloud. All three were laughing. She read the two notes scrawled on the bottom.

_Happy birthday, Mione! Blimey, you're almost as old as the squid now. Kidding (mostly). Ron_

_Happy birthday! I couldn't get you much this year, sorry, but I hope you like it all the same. HP_

"Who are they?" Lucretia asked.

"Look at the date," Cecily whispered.

Her finger moved across the tiny _9/19/1997._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had this chapter all written out over the holiday, but I reread it recently and decided it was absolutely terrible and rewrote the whole thing in the span of one afternoon when I was supposed to be doing my homework. I had to stay up pretty late that night, but hey, it was worth it!
> 
> Would you guys like a Discord so we can all chat? Just an idea.
> 
> Don't forget to comment, thanks so much for reading, and I love you guys! Stay safe!
> 
> ~ DarkLadySwan


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: “Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.” Truer words have never been spoken. Unfortunately, the literature on which this fanfic is based doesn’t belong to me, nor do the characters. However, they do allow me to ignore life, which is almost as good.
> 
> Note: Sorry this chapter was a bit late, but it’s much longer than normal, so I hope you enjoy it!

_Holy water cannot help you now_

_Thousand armies couldn't keep me out_

_I don't want your money_

_I don't want your crown_

_See, I have to burn your kingdom down_

_"Seven Devils" by Florence and the Machine_

O-O-O

The moment he stepped inside, he knew he wanted everyone in the manor dead.

He couldn't say why he felt so strongly, even despite his knowledge about them. It was just a general feeling, an instinctual response, almost, as if something inside of him were urging him to do it. He had a few qualms - many, in fact - but this was something that had to be done. His eyes grew hard in determination, and he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

Their drawing room was quite easy to find. He simply followed the sound of elegant laughter, the clinking of silverware. As he gazed around the expensive hallway, with gold-flaked wallpaper, golden candelabras, and polished side tables, his lip twisted in disdain. Hatred. Loathing. He wanted them all dead. Every last one.

If he had to sacrifice his humanity to accomplish this, then so be it.

Their shock upon seeing his entrance was quite satisfying, especially when they noticed the almost identical similarities between him and the younger of the three Riddles. His father was every bit as arrogant as he had expected, and his grandparents were no less so. His eyes narrowed. How dare they sit here and dine, without a care in the world, when they had been the reason his mother had collapsed on the steps of Wool's Orphanage, pregnant, half-dead, without a penny to her name?

He absentmindedly fingered the ring he'd obtained from his worthless uncle, and his grandmother glared at him, her eyes flicking between him and his father, who was staring in shock. "Who are you?"

Tom Riddle smiled, for once genuinely amused. "I should think you could figure that one out, Madam."

His father stood up, fury in his eyes. "Listen. I have no idea how you found us, but if you don't leave, I will phone the police. They'll be here shortly."

"Oh, you'll phone them," Tom drawled. "How utterly barbaric."

His father started. "Excuse me?"

"I don't like to repeat myself."

"Leave, or I'm calling the police!"

Tom laughed. "No, I don't believe I will. You must have figured out who I am by now?"

"Yes," his father growled. "You're the son of that - that witch," he spat, "and believe me, I want absolutely nothing to do with you."

"Did you think I came here to beg for a home? A place in your family?" Tom laughed again. It was so utterly absurd. "That is about the last thing I want."

"Then what do you want?" his grandfather asked quietly.

"I wish to kill you. That is all. You needn't worry. It will be quick, and relatively painless."

His father paled, and lunged for the phone. Tom let him, slowly pulling out the wand he'd stolen from his uncle. This way, when the Ministry used a spell to determine the wand origin, he wouldn't be the one blamed for his father's murder.

It was all so simple. So very simple.

"What - what is that?" his grandmother stammered. "Are you in - in the occult?" Her haughty face pulled up into a revolted shudder.

Tom shrugged lightly. "Close enough. I am a wizard. Your son can attest to that." He sent a cold smile in his father's direction, who spat at him again.

"Again? You Muggles are all the same."

"M-Muggle?"

"I won't tire you with the details," he said carelessly. "And get off the telephone, dearest Father. You bore me." He waved his wand, and the phone jerked out of his father's grip, suspended by the wire. He heard the operator's voice on the other end. "Operator. Operator. Sir, are you there? Sir?"

Tom smirked as the fear on their faces grew and grew. Oh, how he relished this.

He turned casually to his filthy, snobbish grandparents. "I suppose I'll do you first," he drawled, "for raising a son like this in the first place."

They said nothing, frozen in fear. The room was illuminated by two flashes of green light, and they slumped to the floor, the light leaving their eyes. Something inside him tore. His father screamed, and he turned to him, his mouth twisted. "Now, Father. I'll attend to you."

"Please," his father said hoarsely, "What do you want? Money? Connections? I'll give you whatever you want! Just spare me, I beg you!"

Muggles.

Tom stared at him in disgust. "How pathetic. Listen to yourself, you fool. Is that truly what you think I want? I despise you. I really do." He pointed his uncle's wand at his father's chest. "This is for my mother."

His father's eyes widened.

"Avada Kedavra."

It was so . . . easy.

Another flash of green light, and his father fell, his mouth open in his last remnants of fear, his eyes pale and glassy and open in the starkest terror imaginable. Only they couldn't feel terror, anymore. They were as dead as the body that held them.

Tom spat on his father's corpse, then took a good look around the once-magnificent room, its embossed wallpaper now stained with blood, the corpses of his father's line littered about the room like dominoes. They were the same, really. So easy to tip. And yet, so high and mighty when they were all aligned in a row, so carefully balanced. He smirked, at all of their pretentious wealth, their airs, their preposterously extravagant luxury. Little good it did them now.

He became aware of a strange feeling, as if he were somehow growing colder than before. He didn't feel anything. It wasn't numbness, exactly; it was more the absence of happiness.

This must be it.

Tom stared at his ring with growing enthusiasm, tracing the strange rune on its surface. It seemed immortality would finally be his.

He already had the diary Horcrux. He would need to research much, much more before he created his next. If anything went wrong, he could blow his chances at immortality entirely. And what good would a single Horcrux do him if he died an early death?

He suddenly noticed red on his hands. Blood. Lots of it. It had stained his uncle's wand, too. Of all the things to have stained, it had stained the wand that had killed them in the first place, the weapon capable of so much destruction and terror.

He found he couldn't help it. He stood there, on the ruins of his father's kingdom, and laughed.

O-O-O

Tom awoke with a gasp, cold sweat drenching his face. He lay his head back on the pillow, staring up as he calmed his breathing. Meticulously, he counted the spots on the ceiling. It settled him. It was habit, now.

Always the same. Always. Every single night since that summer, he had dreamed of that exact memory, in vivid detail, down to the last candelabra. It had been truly horrible, at first, and he would lie awake for the rest of the night, unwilling to fall back asleep. He was used to it now, but sleep still didn't come any more easily.

He still didn't regret it in the slightest, even after his Horcrux had been destroyed - Salazar, he was still furious about that - but it was not easy for him to forget the feeling of his soul ripping apart.

Tom glanced at the clock, and cursed under his breath. Four in the bloody morning. He knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, so he climbed out of bed, changing into some comfortable clothes and slipping out of the door that led to the woods. It really was a quite convenient door, and it ensured he wouldn't wake Hermione.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he automatically scanned the woods for threats as he made his way over to the dense forest and the graveyard of trees. This was his favorite time, when the night was thick and cold, and the stars provided just enough light to see by. It was the one time he didn't have to put on an act.

Thick clouds overhead threatened rain, however, and they obscured the stars completely. The trees rustled in a downdraft, still light but promising a cool front. Well, if it did end up raining, he wasn't far from the house. Rain was relaxing, anyway. He smiled as he thought of that night in the Forbidden Forest, when Hermione had been completely scared out of her wits. Why was she coming to his mind so often tonight? Merlin, he really must be tired. He suppressed all thoughts of her, clearing his mind.

He realized he had walked over to the edge of the forest, and he gazed down at the graveyard of fallen trees, in ashes from the experiments of their newly-obtained power.

The Elder Wand was so much stronger than either of them could have ever dreamed. Just touching it filled him with a sense of power, of might, like he could conquer the world. They were, in essence. Hermione was annoyingly cautious about it, and kept it in a locked chest somewhere he couldn't find it. He supposed he could just use Legilimency on her, but it would be too much of a bother. Anyway, she would bring it out when they had need of it. Like when they obtained the Cloak of Invisibility.

He walked through the forest. When he turned around, he could not see the tiny house at all. That was fine by him. He wanted some time to think, such a rarity these days. It was eerily silent, though. Most nights, the birds were already awake, and their songs reverberated through the otherwise quiet forest. Tonight, he could have heard a leaf fall on the ground. The slight wind masked all other sounds that might have been heard.

The forest opened up into a small clearing, where he approached the small pond that he was accustomed to visit in his nighttime walks. It was quite beautiful, its waters dark and swirling, mesmerizing ripples appearing at occasional times. They seemed to tell stories in their depths, as if they held all of the knowledge of the world. He shook his head in disgust. What was the matter with him tonight? This was getting ridiculous.

He suddenly realized he wasn't alone.

Tom heard her footsteps before her small intake of breath. Hermione slowly walked toward the pond, her lips parted, her eyes dark and fascinated. He smiled. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Is it magical?"

"I haven't checked." He changed the subject. "It's nearing the end of summer. We need to finish this, and quickly."

Hermione spoke, her eyes never leaving the pond. "Oh, absolutely. I need to find a book on genealogy; there are quite a few in the Hogwarts library. Why don't we go tomorrow?"

"We?"

She frowned at him. "I don't want to go by myself."

"Well, you still owe me a duel. If I win, you go. If you win, I go."

Hermione grinned. "That sounds good. How about now? We're both awake, anyway. Wandless?"

"Wandless," Tom agreed, already moving into position.

Soon she was facing him, opposite the small clearing, with only the pool and a few birds as witnesses. He fought back a yawn, forcing his mind to stay alert, and they bowed to each other.

 _You might as well prepare yourself,_ she taunted.

Tom smirked. _I don't lose easily._ He moved into the standard duelling stance, noticing her doing the same. Her stance was identical to his. _She's practiced,_ he noted. _I can't underestimate her._

He nodded to her, she nodded back, and then she sent a spell toward him, which he blocked. They slowly circled each other, her back perfectly straight, his more casual, both scanning each other warily.

Then he sent a spell at her, she blocked it, and he was caught up in the whirlwind of spells that encapsulated them both. The night was completely silent, save for the cold downdrafts, which were picking up, and the flashing of their spells back and forth and back and forth.

He barely dodged a small fire dragon, which disintegrated into ash that was blown away in the wind. "Impressive."

She smiled modestly, but he knew she was swelling with pride. "I've been working on that one."

"Ready?"

Hermione sent a jet of red light toward him in response. Tom blocked it easily, then threw her a disparaging look. "Stupefy? I thought I had taught you better."

She laughed, and soon they were once again rapidly sending spells at the other. It was completely exhilarating. He reveled in the near-misses, the whistle of the spells through the air - there was something charming in the sound - and the harsh wind against his face. Her end of the bond was filled with determination. That was what he had first hated about her, before hatred had grown into respect.

The duel continued until the sun peeked above the horizon. He was streaming with sweat, she was too, and both were completely worn out. He grimaced even as he dodged another half-hearted spell. "Truce?" he asked reluctantly.

Hermione sighed and nodded. "Truce. Merlin's beard."

"Why, disappointed you didn't win?" His pride was hurt as well, but he wouldn't tell her that.

She glared at him, and Tom sent a mocking smile her way before making his way back to the house. Perhaps he could get a little sleep.

"Wait, Tom-" she ran up to him, catching his arm. "What does this mean for the trip to the library?"

Tom gave her his best charming smile. "Why, we go together, of course. Just like you wanted. And we'll finally be able to locate the Cloak of Invisibility."

Hermione's eyes glittered in anticipation. "I can hardly wait."

O-O-O

"Merlin!" Cecily exclaimed, pacing back and forth. "I mean, I know she couldn't have told us, but time travel?"

"I know you feel betrayed," Oraia said in a small voice, "but it's not exactly something that she'd feel inclined to tell people, I think."

Cecily ignored her. "I knew something was up, but I never expected something of this magnitude!"

Abraxas was lounging on a chair, his legs hanging over the arm, seeming completely unaffected by the whole thing. "See, the way you're acting is explanation enough."

Cecily whirled on him. "And you!"

"Me? Whatever did I do?"

"Why, you're sitting there, acting all high and mighty! Why aren't you more concerned, or betrayed or, I don't know, doing something other than sitting the wrong way in that stupid chair!"

Abraxas shrugged. "My dear Cecily, there's no right way to sit in a chair. The way we're supposedly supposed to sit is simply the way society's forced upon us."

Cecily's face was murderous.

Abraxas, who found it all highly amusing, continued, "And time travel? We have Time-Turners for this exact reason. Even if it's the farthest back anyone's been known to travel, besides that one dame who went to the Middle Ages for Merlin knows what reason, it's hardly the most unusual thing to happen in my lifetime."

"You're a load of rubbish."

"That's a good one. I'll add it to the list, Cily."

"Oh, do shut up, for once! And anyway, we may be her Knights, or whatever," Cecily snapped, "but first and foremost, we're her friends! Or, at least I thought we were."

"Honestly, Cily, don't you think you're being a bit dramatic?" Lucretia asked, not unkindly. "Sure, she's not from this time, but the question shouldn't be why she lied to us; it's why she came here in the first place."

"Lucy's right," Oraia said. "There are more important things, and she probably would have told us when she was good and ready. Merlin, can we all please stop fighting? We need to move onto Phase Two, anyway."

"Oraia Greengrass, speaking the plain and simple truth as always," Abraxas grinned.

Cecily glared at Oraia, then looked around the room, seeming to take in the tension from the other Knights. She shook her head in amazement, or disgust. "How can you all just accept it that easily? She lied to us, maybe not about being Muggleborn but certainly about everything else! This is serious!"

"Yes, and you know what else is serious?" Oraia said sharply. "The Knights of Walpurgis disbanding because we're all fighting over this! So for the love of Salazar, please let it go, Cily! Griping about it won't change anything."

Cecily started; it was the first time Oraia had spoken that strongly to her. "Ugh, I need a walk." She stormed out of the room.

Oraia shuddered, and Abraxas wrapped a comforting arm around her. "Don't worry. She'll come around. She always does."

"You spoke up," Lucretia said, beaming. "I'm proud of you."

"I just hate seeing her like this," Oraia said sadly. There was a pause. Abraxas opened his mouth, and she beat him to it. "Before you say it, no, I'm not a Hufflepuff."

"Now, how did you guess?" Abraxas laughed.

"I know you too well, you git," she said playfully, punching his arm. "I just _knew_ you'd never let me forget about being a hatstall."

The three of them sat in comfortable silence for a bit. Then Oraia stood up abruptly. "Well. Enough moping. Are we ready to start Phase Two?"

"We need Cecily, and the other Knights," Lucretia said.

"The Knights are around here somewhere, and Cily needs to cool down a bit," Abraxas said. "It won't be entirely safe to approach her at the moment." The two girls nodded hurriedly. "Besides, she's got an article due this evening, on the Minister's new plan for more pureblood privileges."

"I hadn't heard about such a plan," Lucretia frowned.

Abraxas smirked. "There isn't such a plan. It's entirely fictional. However, the Daily Prophet has no idea it's all a ruse, and neither will anyone else. It'll create such excitement in the pureblood circle, especially within the politically powerful Twenty-Eight, that he'll feel bound to sign it into act-"

"-and thereby causing massive dissension among the half-bloods and Mudbloods," Oraia finished. She smiled slowly. "My, but I love how our Lady thinks."

Lucretia sipped a glass of wine that she had probably conjured for the aesthetic. "Phase Two has begun, darlings."

Abraxas nodded. "Let's go recruit some allies, shall we?"

O-O-O

Once they had met up with the rest of the Knights, they formed a pretty sizable group. Abraxas had received a message from Cecily - a tensely worded message, but a message all the same, which he took to be a good sign - that she was working on her article, so he needn't worry about her. He did, of course, but that was beside the point.

Abraxas shook his head and faced the Knights, putting on an overconfident air. "Now, remember, to get in, you just need to show the Mark. They'll let you in right away."

"We know; you've told us about five times now," Cromwell rolled his eyes. "But how do you know all of this?"

"Yes, isn't it supposed to be top secret or something?" Dorian asked.

"That's for me to know and you to. . . not know."

"Oh, that's no fun," Osmond pouted.

"I bet the Mudblood found out somehow and told him," Macnair said. "She's good at that."

"Walden, what did I tell you about _speaking?_ " Dolohov hissed.

Abraxas smiled coldly. "Yes, I'd listen to your friend, Macnair, unless you want a repeat of the Chamber?" Macnair paled. "Yeah, I thought not. Respect for the Lady, please. Anyway, here's the plan-"

"Did I leave the cauldron lit?" Winston asked suddenly.

"I don't think so," Abaris replied.

Abraxas drew a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled. "Here's the plan. We'll all split up, to recruit different people. Try to pick people you think you can convince easily. These are all rebels, anyway, so you shouldn't have much convincing to do. Just be careful what you say; you don't know who's a spy. And I'll deal with Fenix."

They all nodded, and following Abraxas's lead, they Disapparated, appearing in what, to them, just looked like a dark alley. They were in the middle of two run-down Muggle drug stores, and a single feebly flickering street lamp provided the only light for miles. The Knights glanced around them, confused, and Lucretia jumped as a rat scurried out of a hole in the bottom of one of the shop's walls. This was about the last place anyone would ever expect anything secret to be.

Abraxas was very, very glad he had told them to dress nicely.

He adjusted his cuffs, straightened his tie, and ran his hands through his hair before motioning for the Knights to stay behind them. He put on an easy smile, and knocked three times, then once.

A panel swung open in the wall. "Password?"

"A Study in Scarlet."

The panel closed, and a door opened in the wall. They all filed in, one by one, and the door closed behind them. Abraxas smiled. Everything was going perfectly.

The nightclub was completely packed with elegantly-dressed people. Many held glasses of wine, and tables were gathered around the sides, the middle of the floor open for dancing. He glanced over at Lucretia, whose mouth had fallen open in complete and utter delight.

A woman in a short, curled hairstyle and a tight red dress, one which Cecily would have found quite indecent, walked up to him, kissing both cheeks. "Abraxas Malfoy, is it not?"

"Ah, Madam Ballerti! Precisely the woman I wanted to see," Abraxas exclaimed. "I must say, you look quite lovely this evening."

Madam Ballerti smiled. "Oh, you're too kind, darling. Would any of you like refreshments? Please take a seat. My, but there are quite a few of you. Make yourselves at home, my lovelies. Fenix will see you shortly." She winked at him and flounced away.

They all took a seat around a large circular table. He let the swing music fill his head as a server carrying a wine bottle filled each of their crystal glasses in turn with lush, red wine. He took a sip, and frowned. It tasted fresh, like it had just been pressed that year. Wine that hadn't been aged? What a travesty.

A little while later, Madam Ballerti returned to their table, putting a hand on Abraxas's shoulder. "Fenix will see you now, sugar."

He wondered how many new terms of endearment she would come up with before the night was over.

Abraxas rose, gave a reassuring grin to Oraia and Lucretia, and followed Madam Ballerti through the closely packed tables, past the bar, and over to the very back. She unlocked a door that looked as if it were gilded in gold, of all things, and he followed her up the winding stairs to what he could only assume were Fenix's rooms. Fenix wouldn't live here, of course, but she also wouldn't deign to show her face to people unless it was an emergency, or there was a lot of money involved. Mainly in gambling, which she liked to watch, according to all of the accounts he'd read of the woman. She did love her pleasures, but was strangely reclusive. He'd pulled a lot of strings to get an audience, and had dropped his name more than once.

He just hoped it was enough.

Madam Ballerti knocked on the heavy oak door that must lead to her sitting room. "Fenix, the boy's here to see you."

"Bring him in," a voice drawled. Madam Ballerti opened the door.

Fenix was reclining lazily on an armchair, examining a ring with a stone that looked absurdly large on her rather small hand. About middle-aged, her sleek brown hair lightly touched with grey, she was completely bedecked in jewels, from the heavy necklaces that draped down her chest to the rings and bracelets, all studded with jewels of varying sizes. She looked strangely tiny, though. From all accounts of the woman, she was described as terrifying and intimidating, but she couldn't be more than five feet tall. Abraxas knew he couldn't let his guard down, though. Fenix had far too much power, political and otherwise, for that to be safe.

Madam Ballerti stood by him patiently. "You can go," Fenix waved, and the other woman retreated, closing the door behind her. Fenix finally looked up, and Abraxas's eyes widened despite himself; her eyes were as cold as ice.

"Well? Why are you here?"

Abraxas swallowed, and forced himself to meet her gaze. He had never known a woman with a stare that cold, and he was going steady with Cecily Parkinson. His voice was calm when he spoke, though. "You know why, Fenix. I need your help."

"My help, hm? Help is costly."

"That's not a problem," Abraxas said.

Fenix regarded him thoughtfully. "Yes, you're the Malfoy boy, aren't you?"

Abraxas started. "Wait, how do you-"

Fenix smiled and pulled out a wand, which she used to summon a wine glass from a side table.

So she wasn't a Muggle. Strange. That wasn't in any of the accounts he'd read. Of course, he didn't know her terribly well, and those accounts had very little information whatsoever. The only times he'd been anywhere near her had been when Hermione had asked him to deliver her a letter, requesting an alliance. He'd given it to Madam Ballerti and gone on his merry way, quite pleased with how things had turned out. And then, when he'd been given, again by Hermione, the task of receiving an answer, he had researched as much about Fenix as he could. There wasn't much to research.

He hadn't known she was a witch. Now that he knew, he could see it in her bearing; the casual orders, the arrogance, the expectancy in her gaze.

Huh. Well, this certainly changed things.

"Yes, I am a Malfoy," Abraxas said, allowing some arrogance to slip into his voice. "Abraxas Malfoy."

"Interesting." Fenix smiled and took a sip, the red contents magically refilling themselves. "Very interesting. And what do you need my help for, may I ask?"

"Tell me, Fenix, what do you think of the Ministry?"

"The Ministry?" Fenix frowned. "Well, I don't really care one way or the other, I suppose, why?"

"Please be honest with me," Abraxas said, sitting down on a chair opposite her. "I need to know I can trust you."

"I'm not going to go blabbering back to them, if that's what you mean," she said. "Whatever you say in here will stay in this room."

"Thank you. You know of the Lady Persephone, yes?"

Fenix smiled. "Vague rumors."

"And of Lord Voldemort?"

"Less vague." Fenix's eyes grew a sudden spark. "Why, do you mean to tell me they're connected in some way?"

Abraxas held back a smile. He'd known that would get her interest. The woman loved gossip almost as much as money. "That's exactly what I'm telling you. In fact, they're working together."

"On what?" Her sultry face held the same restrained eagerness he'd seen in Cecily, when she was telling him about her latest article.

He shrugged casually. "A revolution. Against the Ministry. Are you in?"

Fenix threw back her head and laughed. "Dear Merlin. Well, I don't suppose I have anything better to do. Everything's been so dull, lately. A revolution might be just what I need to entertain myself."

Abraxas smiled, but inside he was panicking. There was no way it could be this easy. No way. She must have some trick up her sleeve. Maybe she was secretly a Ministry official or a mole, and he'd completely blown it.

"Oh, do relax, boy. I'm not going to bite your head off."

He realized his shoulders had tensed, and he relaxed them deliberately. "Well, then, that's settled, isn't it?"

"Why do you need my help?" Her eyes were like a hawk.

"We need money," he said bluntly. "There's the Malfoy treasury, of course, but we need that for maintaining the grounds, and we don't want to blow all of it on a whim. You're far richer than even we are, and we could really use that. Also, you're skilled in running an underground. Someone wouldn't know it from the outside, but I suspect half of the people down there are magical, and they're all wanted for something."

Fenix smiled, delighted. "You're the first person to figure it out. You're smarter than you look."

"Er, thanks, I think."

She waved a bejeweled hand. "Are you saying you'll need the underground too, then?"

"As well as your advice, and anything you can offer in the form of poison."

Fenix smiled, a dangerous smile that made him shiver. "So you know of that? I knew someone would find out, eventually. Yes, I can give you my help. But," she continued, as apparently he was showing too much excitement on his face, "I'm bored of money. I want something more."

That sounded ominous. He swallowed. "Like what?"

"I want you to marry my daughter."

Abraxas's mouth fell open. He tried speaking, but it felt like the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach. He finally stammered, "I'm sorry, _what?_ "

Fenix studied him coolly. "You come from a very well-respected pureblood family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and you're not one of those boorish brats like the Macnairs' son. I believe you'll do quite nicely. My daughter is, truly, a very lovely girl."

He felt panic rise in him, and he stared at the woman, all of five feet tall, whose smile held a flicker of triumph. "Who are you?"

Fenix tilted her head. "Just a mother who's looking out for her only child's best interests. And I believe you've met my daughter already. Cecily Parkinson?"

Abraxas gaped. She had to be joking. Cily? None of it made any sense! True, her parents were never around, always vacationing somewhere, but surely she would've said something! Unless. . . "She doesn't know."

"Know what? That she's the daughter of the leader of the wizarding mafia, or that she's now betrothed?" Fenix had a knowing smile on her face.

"Hey, wait, I haven't agreed to anything!" Abraxas stammered. Now that he was looking at her, he wondered why he hadn't made the connection earlier. They had the same fire to their eyes, the same strong cheekbones. Even if Fenix's nose was just a bit longer, the more he held eye contact, the more she looked like her daughter. Or her daughter looked like her. Which made him realize. . . "And Fenix isn't your real name, either, is it?"

"No, it's not. And you will agree." Fenix winked at him. "Break the news to my darling Cecily gently. About both. She doesn't take well to secrets."

"Believe me, I know," Abraxas muttered. His head was reeling, and he had the strange urge to bolt. Marry Cecily? For political reasons? He didn't even know if they knew each other well enough yet.

Oh, he loved her. There was no doubt about that. But marriage?

Fenix patted his cheek. He felt strangely small, even though he was so much taller than she was. It was an odd feeling, and did nothing to help the churning in his stomach. "Dear boy. I'll give you some time to think on it, yes? Either way, send me an owl by next Saturday. If I get no response, I'll assume the deal is off."

He nodded numbly, and exited her apartments, a million thoughts flying through his head at once.

Abraxas hurried downstairs to see the Knights conversing with various people. At least their jobs were easy. Oh, how he wished that had been his job. Marriage to Cecily Parkinson? Merlin's beard. He didn't even have a ring yet.

And what if she said no? He couldn't help that. He had no idea how she would react. He knew she loved him too, but they had only been together for approximately half of a year. That was hardly any time at all. And for politics?

If Abraxas knew Hermione right, and he thought he did, she wouldn't force him to do that. He was bound to their cause by the Mark, and gladly at that, but just because they were working together didn't mean he had to follow Fenix's every whim. Salazar, what would Cecily think?

The Knights looked up, almost in unison, and he gave them a short nod. They gave their goodbyes and followed him out of the nightclub, completely ignorant of everything that had spiraled out of his control upstairs. Merlin, but he'd thought he had her! She had just been toying with him. He ran his hands through his hair, forcing himself to remain calm, and when they stepped outside, he breathed the chilly night air gratefully.

He cleared his mind. He didn't want everyone to get splinched when they Apparated. Marriage would be nothing in comparison to a lost arm or leg. As one, they Apparated back to the Riddle House.

O-O-O

Cecily was washing dishes when Abraxas entered the kitchen. She claimed it was cathartic for her, for some reason. He didn't think he'd ever understand her. The more he got to know her, the more confused he became.

"Oh, there you are," she said acidly. "Did you have fun?"

"Er, no, actually."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Abraxas rolled his eyes and made his way over to her. "It was stuffy, and the entire place was filled with pipe smoke so thick you could barely breathe." He walked over to her. "And you know what the worst part was? The wine wasn't even vintage."

Cecily laughed. "Merlin forbid the wine not be 1905 Sauvignon. Well, I'm sure we have some lying around in our stores somewhere. Did you talk to Fenix, at least?"  
"I did," he said carefully.

"And?"

He drew a deep breath. "Well, we have a deal."

"That's excellent. With all of your terms?"

"All of our terms."

She attacked another plate with vigor. Her hands were covered in foam. "And what did she want in return?"

"That one requires a rather long answer," he said uncomfortably. "Er, first off, Fenix isn't her real name."

"Is her name Divinia Parkinson?"

Abraxas stared. "How did you know?"

"I've known for a while," she shrugged. "She thinks I'm stupid. It's the only way I've managed. What did my dear mother want?"

He got the next words out with difficulty. "For me to marry you."

Cecily stopped washing, letting the soapy plate slide onto the pile. "Oh."

"I tried to convince her otherwise, but the woman simply wouldn't budge. The only reason she wants it is because I'm a Malfoy; she didn't even know who I was before I introduced myself, and-"

"Is the idea of marrying me so revolting to you?"

"I - what?"

Cecily turned around, drying her hands on a dish towel, her eyes fiery. "Does the idea of marrying me so revolt you that you'd risk jeopardizing the mission, for the sake of your feelings?"

"No, Cily, that's not it at all!" Abraxas said hurriedly. "You know how I feel about you. It's just that we barely know each other, and-"

"And what?" She looked strangely vulnerable, but her eyes never left his. "It might be for political reasons, but we love each other. Don't we?"

She never ceased to amaze him. "But I don't have a ring. I need to propose to you properly. You deserve that much, at least."

Cecily smiled, her eyes full of warmth. "Oh, enough with what's proper. Propose to me, right now."

"I - what?"

"For Merlin's sake, Abraxas!" She tossed the dish towel onto the counter. "You can get that silly ring later. Propose to me, right now, in the kitchen."

Abraxas laughed. He picked up a tiny, stainless steel paperweight that was holding the shopping list in place, and transfigured it into a simple ring. She hastily removed her apron, and smoothed her dress. He took her hands in his, and drew a deep breath.

"Cecily Parkinson, I've been completely besotted with you since you first sat next to me in our first year." Cecily smiled, blushing. "I might not have realized it, since I know I've been a complete rotter to you on many occasions, but I love you, so much, and want absolutely nothing more in the world than to spend the rest of my life with you." He was surprised at how easily the words came. He got down on one knee and prayed that his tie was straight. "So. . . will you marry me?"

Cecily sniffed, and he suddenly realized that she was crying. "Of course I will, you adorable, silly boy."

Abraxas slipped the ring on her finger, and she pulled him up, and she kissed him and he kissed her and he pulled her close to him, afraid that if he let go, she'd disappear into mist. He'd never felt more happy in his entire life. He thought he might explode.

Something banged on the kitchen door. They jumped, and their heads turned to the door. "I'll check it out," he said.

He walked over to the door, one hand on his wand, and threw it open. The Knights came tumbling out, as if they'd been leaning on it, a few even falling to the floor. "Um. . . congratulations!" Avery grinned cheekily.

The whole thing was so absurd that Abraxas started laughing. "Have you been eavesdropping the whole time?" Cecily hurried over and put her arm around his waist, a fond smile on her face.

"It started out as just me," Avery confessed, still on the floor. "Then more people joined in. I think everyone's here."

As if that was their cue, they all scrambled to their feet, and gave their hearty congratulations, patting him on the back, and hugging Cecily, and he loved them all so very much. They were the brothers he never had.

Lucretia, Oraia, and Cecily were all hugging and crying. "I just knew it'd happen!" Oraia exclaimed. "You two have been starry-eyed for far too long now."

"Oh, darling, we need to start planning your wedding!" Lucy said. "Dresses and champagne and dancing and a big white cake. I know how much you love nature, so we could even have it outside, and. . ." Her voice faded as they walked down the hallway. The boys gradually disappeared one by one. He was about to head upstairs and write his parents the news, when he heard Cecily call, "Oh, Lucy, just one moment!" and she ran back down the hallway toward him and jumped in his arms, kissing him again. He kissed back with as much vigor as he could put into it, and she tangled her fingers in his hair.

"I love you," she murmured.

Her breath was hot, and he kissed her again. "I love you too."

She kissed his cheek, his lips, his forehead, then smiled at him, planting one last kiss on his nose before jumping down and going after Lucretia.

Abraxas stared after her, then gave an amazed laugh. Merlin, how had he gotten so lucky?

He headed upstairs to give Fenix his answer.

O-O-O

The man gave a grunt of disgust and threw down last month's paper. Cecily Parkinson. Who did that brat think she was, praising the Minister like that? It made him sick just to read it. One would think that the Daily Prophet would see through it, because that was all it was, he realized. A farce. Surely most people would see through it, too.

Of course, he was far more intelligent than most people. All of them were such bores. Such sheep. They just believed everything they read, everything they saw, without checking otherwise. Which meant it was so easy for them to be manipulated.

What was this Cecily Parkinson playing at? Surely she didn't love Minister Spencer-Moon that much, or hate him that much, to write such a glowing article simply singing his praises. And this other one about the Minister granting more privileges to purebloods? He was doing no such thing, but there were riots just this morning, half-bloods and Mudbloods filling the streets. Spencer-Moon had tried to reassure them, but almost as if it was planned, the head of almost every Sacred Twenty-Eight family, excepting those of the Weasleys and the Longbottoms, had requested an audience with him. The man suspected that they were going to convince him otherwise. Pureblood families were powerful, both magically and politically. They could make Spencer-Moon step down, if they so desired.

What was she playing at, indeed.

He scoffed into his cup of coffee. He didn't like the Minister, far from it, but the Minister had granted him a secure job, which was all he could desire, or so Spencer-Moon seemed to think. The man was planning on running next year, anyway, so it wasn't as if it would be the end of the world, but he did like to be right with everyone else when it came to politics. Which meant he needed to find out what this Parkinson girl was up to.

There was one relatively foolproof way to do it.

Roger stood up, grabbing a quill and a piece of parchment. He was quite glad Irma cleaned up in here; he found he was much messier than he liked to be. She always made sure everything was easy to reach at a moment's notice. It had gotten him out of quite a few scrapes.

He scribbled a note onto it, then gave it to his owl, who flew out of the window and out of sight.

He smiled. That ought to do it.

O-O-O

The plan was fairly simple. Tom would distract whoever was in charge of patrol, while Hermione would sneak in through the wards in her Animagus form. He'd join her later in the library, and they'd research Ignotus Peverell's genealogy.

"Are you ready?" Tom asked her. She smiled at him and took his hand, shouldering her book bag, and they Apparated to the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione saw trees, so many trees, and heard birds chirping. She gazed around her at the familiar setting. Somewhere close to here would be the clearing where they'd linked for the first time, and they were only a few feet from the place where they'd almost died because they'd kissed in a thunderstorm. It hadn't been the brightest idea, but she didn't regret it.

On the one hand, it had caused her to be caught up in his machinations in a far more tangled web than she had originally planned for herself. That single kiss, the one occurrence in their alliance that was completely unplanned, had changed everything, complicated all of their schemes, and had resulted in an entrapment with each other; one that was beneficial to them both, but an entrapment nonetheless. Neither could leave. He couldn't leave because she was vital to his uprising to power, and she couldn't because . . . there was a reason she had kissed him. Unexpected on either end, and she hadn't decided yet whether this was good or bad for her.

However, it had also strengthened the link between them, and not just the magical one. With their alliance at first existing as purely political, and now as something neither of them were willing to define, it had been reinforced so that it was stronger than ever. Even without the Vow, neither would be able to betray the other.

Hermione had no idea whether he had felt anything at all from it. Dumbledore had said he was unable to love, that he was a psychopath. Well. If he wasn't able to love, then he was a better actor than she'd originally thought. He was using her, that much was obvious, but what baffled her was the extent to which he was taking it. Sure, it had been quite imperative that she learn Dark magic, and politics, and diplomacy - Merlin knew she needed to work on that - but he was putting in far more effort than was necessary to their success. He'd gain power, yes, so much of it, but was it truly worth it to spend so much of his valuable time schooling her Machiavellian tactics?

She'd soaked it up, of course, but that was beside the point.

He probably thought it'd be better for them to be safe than sorry, but even so. . . Well, he was confusing. She'd known that from the beginning.

She took her wand out of her bag with her other hand, and attempted to close the fastening with her wand in her hand. She couldn't seem to get a hold on it, so she put her wand in her mouth to free up her hand. That almost worked, but it kept slipping.

"If you did that in an attempt to make yourself more attractive, it's not necessary," Tom said dryly. She blushed furiously, removing her wand from her mouth as though it were iron-hot, and he laughed.

"Oh, just help me close this," she scowled, but to her annoyance, she had to fight to keep a smile from appearing on her face. He could probably tell from the bond that she was amused, anyway. He reached behind her and looped shut the strap that held the two sides of her bag closed, his fingers brushing her arm. Her heart hammered, and she finally threw up her hands and walked a safe distance from him. "Gah! This bloody forest does things to people!"

"Why don't you go on and shift," Tom smirked. He truly was evil.

She shot one last glare at him and closed her eyes, tuning in to the second heartbeat that she'd grown so used to. Allowing it to dominate her first heartbeat, she slowly changed into a red fox. She scampered back and forth, swishing her tail, and let her eyes become accustomed to the lack of red and green.

 _Alright,_ she thought through the soul bond. _Whenever you're ready, I suppose._ She had to fight to keep her fox instincts from taking over. She thought she heard a mouse skitter, and her eyes swung over to where - no, focus, Hermione!

"I don't think I'll ever get used to this," Tom muttered. "Go on."

Hermione padded casually through the forest, her large ears perking up at the slightest sound. Passing easily through the wards - she was, after all, a fox, not a person - she scampered over to the greenhouses, her nose tilted up at all of the strange smells. The plants in Greenhouse One must be mandrakes, and those over there - focus! Focus. No new smells. Mind on the mission.

She hid behind a large plant as one of the teachers passed, then finally made it into the large oak doors, where she changed back into her human form and headed over to the library. She absentmindedly messed with her hair as she breathed in the nostalgia, the feeling of finally being at home. It was exactly as she remembered.

The library was even better. When she entered the large, high-domed room with its thousands upon thousands of books, some flying between bookshelves, others with their pages turning in midair, she wanted to laugh and cry at once. She settled for silence, but rejoiced in her heart.

She chose their table at the back to wait for Tom, and he arrived a little after she did. Thankfully, since there was no one in the library, not even the librarian, they were allowed to talk freely.

"Salazar, that man was stubborn," Tom said, rolling his eyes. "It certainly didn't help that he had no idea who I am. Probably a new hire. I had to spend about five solid minutes to convince him I was 'worthy to enter our fine halls'." He made a disgusted noise, and Hermione grinned.

"Sounds like he was able to knock you down a peg."

"Why would I have need of that? I'm perfectly humble."

She laughed, and he sat down, still displeased. She pushed a book toward him. "I found this one. It's a good place to start."

For the rest of the afternoon, they pored over what seemed like hundreds of books. The volumes, out of which they'd bled every last morsel of possible information, were stacked in high towers around them, and still they read, and read, and read. The sky outside faded to a deep blue, then to purple, and finally black. When she glanced out of the window, she could see the constellations twinkling like diamonds, and the moon shone silver. Hermione's eyes grew heavy, and she forced herself to stay awake. She was growing soft. She had stayed up far later than this when she was studying at Hogwarts, and that subject material had been abundant. No matter that they had found nothing yet. They would.

And they did. Hermione's head was about to drop onto the thick tome she'd been reading. Well, not really reading. She'd been rereading the same line for the past thirty minutes, and she was certain she was about to fall asleep. The steady wind outside was doing nothing to stimulate her, either.

"I found something," Tom said quietly.

Hermione had to blink several times before it fully registered, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes. She stared wearily around at the piles and piles of books surrounding them, creating a sort of fortress. "Hm?"

"I found something," he repeated. "It says the Cloak was last seen in Godric's Hollow, although the wizard who possessed it is unknown."

And suddenly, everything clicked.

Godric's Hollow. This was the same Cloak in which she'd spent her years at Hogwarts roaming the castle's corridors with Harry and Ron. Harry. Harry Potter. "The Potters," she whispered.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Cloak is possessed by the Potters," Hermione said excitedly, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. "Of course, that's where Ignotus Peverell is buried! How could it have slipped my mind?"

"How would you feel about a short visit, tomorrow, to a little village of no consequence?" Tom asked.

"Just as a holiday, I'm sure."

He shrugged lightly. "We need the break."

Hermione grinned. "We can pick up a souvenir there too?"

"Of course."

They met each other's eyes across the table and smiled. If this worked, _when_ this worked . . .

Two Hallows down. One to go.

O-O-O

Cecily hummed to herself as she swept the kitchen. It was annoyingly dirty. She'd underestimated the mess that twelve young men could make when under no supervision whatsoever. Some of them - no, most of them - were lazy to the point of complete chaos. She didn't mind terribly. She had almost nothing to do, and growing up as the elder sister in a family of four, she had found herself cleaning up after her younger brother on more occasions than she could count. This really was no different.

She sighed, resting on the handle of the broom. She glanced down at her Dark Mark, half-hidden by her sleeve. Tom and Hermione had been gone for so, so long. She was beginning to wonder if they were ever coming back. She shook her head in an attempt to clear those unwelcome thoughts. She was being ridiculous. Of course they were coming back. It was a difficult job that they had to do, and it was just going to take a while. But how long until the Knights ran out of tasks, and there was nothing left for them to do to prepare for their return? What then?

She clenched her jaw. She was still angry at Hermione, very angry, but she was trying to suppress it for Abraxas's sake. It was so very hard to be agreeable, but was it worth it? Why should she follow "the Lady", her close friend, who had lied to her about something as enormous as this? Not only did it change her trust, it changed Hermione's possible motives as well. She must've run into trouble with the Ministry in her time, for her to be so adamant that they be taken down. Shr frowned, and tried unsuccessfully to clear it from her mind. How could she trust her?

She couldn't.

Cecily plopped down on a nearby stool, again letting her eyes wander over to the ring resting on the fourth finger on her left hand. She smiled. Abraxas had just insisted on getting a proper one, however much she had said she liked the other one just fine, so he, accompanied by Dorian, Abaris, and Rufus, had gone shopping. The result was this lovely gold, diamond-studded ring that made her heart skip every time her eyes fell upon it. Oh, she loved him so dearly. She couldn't wait for their marriage. It was only four months away. She hadn't wanted anything extravagant, and they needed none of those Muggle caterers, so it would be fairly quick to plan.

She startled as she heard a rapping at the kitchen window. She frowned and rose from her seat, walking over to the window to see a large, nondescript owl, marked with a Ministry insignia. She paled, then shook her head, taking the note that was attached to the owl's leg. It was probably nothing. Nothing at all.

She straightened out the note, and she grew more and more incredulous as she read.

_Cecily Parkinson -_

_You will not have heard of me. That is quite all right. Please believe me when I say I mean no harm by this note, and if I have disturbed you, a thousand apologies._

_I have been keeping up with your articles in the Daily Prophet. They are quite fascinating. You truly have a way with words, Miss Parkinson. I have no loyalty to the Minister, believe me, so do not be afraid when I say I know exactly what you are up to. And I wish to offer my help._

_If you wish to accept, meet me on the fifteenth, at nine in the morning, at the Leaky Cauldron. Don't be late._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Roger Selwyn_

Cecily read the note three times. "How strange," she murmured. "I've never heard of this man in my life."

She read the note again, and her eyes widened. Roger. Wasn't that the man who'd been having an affair with Irma?

The Ministry official?

The Ministry official that they had blackmail on?

Huh.

She scribbled a note back, telling him she would be certain to be there, and sent the owl flapping away. She stared after it, contemplating. This could go one of two ways.

She could be able to get him on their side, and perhaps bind him with the Vow. He wouldn't be an official member, but his access to the Ministry would be invaluable to them. Absolutely invaluable.

On the other hand. . . she had no idea who this man was. He could have completely lied about his identity, and she wouldn't know. She didn't think that he would harm a member of another Sacred Twenty-Eight family, especially a family who was placed higher socially than his, but she didn't know if he was even a Selwyn.

This could just be a trap.

Well. If it was a trap, she would be ready. She was Cecily Parkinson, and Merlin hang her if she allowed someone to take advantage of her in this way! She would go in, and she would be ready.

Her eyes hardened, and she gripped her wand. She would be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Join the discord: https://discord.gg/qrcpqjXMhf  
> Have fun, stay safe, and don’t forget to leave a review!  
> Love y’all!  
> ~ DarkLadySwan


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